


We Start Our Journeys Alone

by Falcolmreynolds



Series: Legends of Mythweald: Story of the Night Guard [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: D&D, Dragons, Elves, Enemies, Fantasy, Fate, Found Family, Gen, Here we go, High Fantasy, Orcs, Queer Character, The Underdark, Trans Male Character, all that good good fantasy stuff, but perhaps now you will understand, dnd, i'll add more tags when i find them, it's been too long, multiple trans male characters actually!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2020-03-09 17:05:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 40
Words: 133,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18921349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Falcolmreynolds/pseuds/Falcolmreynolds
Summary: We know what happened to Mythweald; what happened that caused the Shaking, and the split of the forgotten god of death, and the restructuring of the world. But do we know how? Do we know the intricacies of the interactions that led up to this event, the actions of the people who caused it? The people who saved the world?The journals of Tamerlane Redwyne sit collected on a shelf in the library at Tila Estate, sometimes gathering dust, sometimes proudly cleaned and presented to a curious reader. But the story is long; few read it in its entirety.Perhaps you will. Here it is; read on, and understand how the world broke, how fate cracked, how time shattered. How heroes lived and died.How the Night Guard saved Mythweald.





	1. Heroes' Day

**Author's Note:**

> For Drew. Thanks.
> 
> Thanks to Drew, Liam, Paul, Jules, Skylar, and Daniel.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tamerlane's first journal is slim, worn, and rather incomplete; almost as if it were an afterthought to a greater tale. In parts, the narrative is crossed out, rewritten, or forgotten entirely, the neat block print erased, written again, erased, written, over and over until the pages are gray with smudges and the writer gave up entirely. Records indicate that Tamerlane Redwyne's first journal chronologically was his last written - at least, in the records that are available. There may be more of his writings, but for now, they are still with him, hidden.
> 
> ((The records for the first chunk of sessions are missing, incomplete, and/or unclear. I did my best to remember what happened.))

“I’ve had a grand idea,” Valerian said, leaning forwards onto the table, “and I think you could help me with it.”

This was not yet a mistake, but it was verging perilously close to the edge of one. Tamerlane shifted, pulling his cloak tighter around him.

“You received a letter, didn’t you? Just like this one.” Val produced a roll of parchment tied with a red ribbon and placed it down on the dark planks. “It’s a call. For Heroes’ Day.”

“And?”

“And I think we should go! Lucky I caught you here, too; you’re hell to get a hold of. But – you know, you’re kind of…” Val trailed off, gesturing vaguely at the air. “Not into the whole family business, hm? And neither am I! You know that, clearly. But both of us will get dragged into it unless we do something about it. This could be our chance!”

‘Lucky that I caught you here’. _Lucky._ That would be what he believes. “No.”

“Come on, Tam, please? We could be heroes! Just like Balon and Theodric!”

“No.”

Val looked distraught. “I don’t want to go in _alone,”_ he said, “because it’s dangerous, and I trust you more than I trust a bunch of strangers to, you know, watch my back, and all that.”

_He’s going to get himself killed._

“Fine.”

* * *

 

Elder Vale was an old city, light gray stone and buildings that seemed to lean over the cobblestone streets. The entire city sat in a valley, thick gray stone walls weathering the years to keep its inhabitants safe from wild creatures; bandits were not a problem, as the city of New Crest was only a week away by horse. The avenues sloped downwards to the center of the city, a wide corridor of buildings that led to the home of Balon Steelsong.

There were several archways leading into the city, each over a road that led out into the valley and beyond. The streets were crowded with people; the air smelled of horses and cooked food and dirt, and through the murmur of the crowd the occasional string of music from a fiddler on the corner caught Tam’s ears.

 Val seemed to be besotted with the place, with its towers and libraries and temples. “This is amazing,” he breathed, turning in a circle as they walked. “Not as big as New Crest, of course, but still! It’s just hidden here in the valley. And _Balon_ lives here!”

Yes, he did. Tam was, at best, uncomfortable. This place was bright and open and full of people. A complete disaster; this entire endeavor was a serious miscalculation.

Fortunately, he did not have to endure the crowds for longer than absolutely necessary. “There,” Val called, pointing towards a large, dark-wood building that sat squarely along one of the main roads that led towards the city’s heart. “That’s the place.”

A hand-painted wooden sign hung from an iron pole above the doorway, which sat underneath an overhanging room looking out into the street. Clinging to the letters with a smile stretched across its face was a goblin.

“The Grinning Goblin,” Val said, staring up. “That’s it; that’s the one that’s mentioned in the letter. Come on! I want to make sure we don’t lose out.”

 _Lose out on what?_ Tam thought to himself, and followed his cousin into the tavern.

Inside, the light was considerably dimmer, though the people were just as loud. Val stepped up on his toes and peered over the crowd; he was taller than most of them, and managed to spot something Tam couldn’t. “This way!” he called, and took off, weaving his way between people with ease.

Tam stepped back to the edge of the room and found his way around, following Val’s general movement. He was easy to spot – brilliant red and gold cloak and dark, swept-back hair over pale skin, his face finely boned and elegant. He stood out, drew attention, caught people’s eyes. Tam tried to do just the opposite, and tended to succeed.

The front counter of the tavern was surrounded by a throng of people – not citizens, but armored travelers and fighters, from what seemed to be many regions of the world. Val was there already, leaning on the counter, mostly ignoring them. His attention was focused on a large, dusty tome that was lying open on the old wood.

“For Heroes’ Day?” said the man behind the counter, human, with bright orange hair. He was easily a head shorter than Val.

“That’s right,” Val said, “and so is – oh, where is he?”

The bartender raised his eyebrows and glanced around. “That fella?” he asked, looking in Tam’s direction.

“Yes! Tam, come on.”

_So be it._

Tam shuffled forwards and put his staff between him and the people he had to shoulder his way through to reach his cousin. Val held an elegant feather quill in one hand and he was grinning.

“Here,” he said, pointing to a list of names. “Write yours.” His was already scrawled in a looping cursive across the line.

Tam took the quill and carefully penned his name – TAMERLANE REDWYNE – underneath in block capitals. Val rolled his eyes. “So boring,” he muttered, but flashed a grin before handing the quill back to the bartender.

“Very good,” the bartender said, with a nod. “You sit tight, ‘n’ Balon will be ‘round in just about an hour or so to group you up.”

Tam stepped back, through the crowd that had watched them sign, and headed for a small, quiet table in the corner of the room. Val followed, still glancing back to the book.

“That’s very official,” he whispered, when they sat down. “Did you see the size of it? I bet it’s got all the Heroes since the very first.”

Tam nodded absentmindedly, thinking of the glance he’d caught of the page. A list of names, down from the top, and nowhere near as many as he’d expected. Joseph Silverford, Lady Annabelle Dragos, Nualie Undame, Pateirn Sinnodel, Robin Whitefield, Maleka Khambere, Camerel Crawford, Andali Silverleaf, Alfo Nightmantle, Erkas Khanial… no one from the Circles.

The Circles wouldn’t bother with this.

The hubbub in the tavern slowly began to die down to a dull hum of voices. No one else who looked particularly adventurous came or went; it seemed that everyone who wanted to be here was present, and they were all waiting.

But for what?

The answer presented itself in a tall man in deep purple robes who stepped through the front door of the tavern. The people around him grew quiet; he surveyed the room, leaning on a polished oak staff grasped in one hand. His eyes, the same vivid violet as his attire, peered out from a wrinkled face. Black hair shot through with streaks of silver cascaded down over his shoulders and back. Tam didn’t personally recognize the man – he’d never seen him before – but from his demeanor, and the silence he commanded, and Val’s gasp next to him, he could take a guess – this must be the legendary hero, Balon Steelsong.

It took a few seconds for the entire tavern to go silent, but it did. Everyone turned towards him.

“Those of you who are here for Heroes’ Day, to compete,” Balon began, “please step forwards. You have the rest of the day today to find three sponsors for your team.”

“Sponsors?” Val muttered, confused.

“Once you have them, return here with their names, and gather in the main square tomorrow morning. Those of you who do not have a complete team, come to me.”

Several groups of adventurers stepped back; Val glanced around, slightly confused, and stood. “That’s us,” he hissed, and tugged Tam’s cloak once before darting forwards. Tam followed, reluctant.

Balon surveyed those that weren’t grouped. “You,” he said, pointing towards a group of three, “with him.” He indicated a young, startled-looking man in plate armor. “The other two, with you.”

Tam glanced over. One of the two indicated was an ice elf, tall(for an elf) and pale with a scar over one eye. The other was a stout, black-haired dwarf who looked rather like he had fallen down several mountains face-first.

There were a few other groups, but that wasn’t important. Val stepped up to the elven man and held one hand out. “Valerian Redwyne,” he said proudly, with a smile. “And you are?”

“Pateirn Sinnodel,” the elf answered, carefully taking Val’s hand.

“Lovely to meet you. And you?” Val turned towards the dwarf.

“Alfo.” His voice sounded as rough as his appearance.

 _Nightmantle,_ Tam finished, remembering from the book.

“Right! Well, it seems we’ll be working together.” Val glanced out the window. “Tomorrow morning is the first trial, and we have to go out and get sponsors – but, ah, first, put our things away, and all that. I suppose we’ll stay here tonight, then? Who has a room already?”

Pateirn raised one hand with a slight nod. Val glanced over towards the bartender, then said, “Tam and I can get one. Alfo –“

“I’ll sleep on your floor,” Alfo blurted, staring at Pateirn.

“Ah – uh… sure,” Pateirn answered, slightly shaken.

Alfo turned and whistled, low and clear. Through the people came bounding a massive wolf, deep gray and black. Pateirn went even paler than he already was. The wolf trotted up to Alfo’s side – she was nearly as tall at the shoulder as he was – and sat, shaking her fur out. Alfo buried the scarred fingers of one hand in the wolf’s rough fur.

“This is Shadow of the Trees,” Alfo grunted, indicating the wolf.

“Hello,” Pateirn said nervously, and extended one hand. Shadow rumbled deep in her chest; Pateirn retracted his hand and stuffed it inside his sleeve hurriedly.

Tam observed the wolf. She seemed to be an ordinary wolf, though very large. Not a dire wolf. Well, perhaps there was dire wolf somewhere in her ancestry. She turned and stared at him, golden-yellow eyes gleaming in the dark tavern; was that intelligence that stirred in their depths? Tam wrapped his cloak tighter around himself.

“I’ll get us a room,” Val said, and slipped away yet again to the bartender.

There was a moment of awkward silence between Tam, Alfo, and Pateirn. “Sponsors,” Pateirn finally said. “Oh! I know one we could try.”

“Who?” Alfo raised an eyebrow.

“Syllariss,” Pateirn said, glancing towards the door. “Syllariss Spellweaver. I’ve spoken to him a time or two; he’s a very old and skilled wizard, and he works at the Library of Oghma, down in the center of the city.”

“You think a librarian is gonna sponsor us?” Alfo snorted.

“Yes!”

“What am I missing out on?” Val said, appearing again. “I have a room. Are we going to look for sponsors? We’d better get out of here if we want to get them before everyone else does.”

“Yes,” Pateirn said, shaking his head. “Let’s just go.”


	2. Night Guard

They headed out. Tam regretted leaving the dark interior of the tavern.

The Library of Oghma, their first destination, was in the center of the city, near the converted town square and Balon Steelsong’s home. It was a beautiful building – white marble and a glass dome over the atrium that let light shine down into the most beautiful library Tam had ever seen. Shadow whined at the light and paced around the edges of the room.

The floors were marble as well, with a compass rose inlaid in dark gray and rose-colored granite in the center. Smaller designs around the edges of the mosaic indicated the arrangement of the planes of existence, a huge circle of words and names and colored designs, some in languages Tam didn’t understand. The Material Plane was at the center, a little circle of blue and green and white, surrounded by two semicircles of pale white and deep gray – for the Feywild and the Shadowfell, Tam knew. Beyond that were the brilliant colors of the elements, and then the Outer Planes in all their glory. Tam nearly lost the rest of the group as he stood there, studying the mosaic. Only a quick pat on his arm from Val roused him from his trance; he followed them as they left the atrium, headed into the library wings.

“He should be around here somewhere,” Pateirn murmured, leading the group quickly through the tall, dark rows of bookshelves that ringed the atrium. “I don’t know where – we’ll just have to look until we find him. Um, carefully.”

It only took a few minutes, because they didn’t find Syl – he found them. An owl carrying a scroll swept past them down one of the rows, dark brown with tawny spots and rings around its eyes, and took their attention with it as it fluttered onto the shoulder of an elven man seated at a low reading desk, watching them carefully, one finger holding his place in a leather-bound book.

Tam stared. How had he not noticed this man before? How had no one noticed him?

“Do you need something?” Syllariss Spellweaver asked them.

Val stepped up immediately. “We’re looking for Heroes’ Day sponsors,” he said, glancing over to Pateirn. “Pat thought you might be willing to help us.”

“That’s not my name,” Pateirn said, distressed. “It’s Pateirn.”

There was a long silence. Syl looked them over, clear gray eyes piercing. He lingered on Tam.

_I know what you see._

“You want to be Heroes,” he said, tracing the outline of the words on the book’s cover, glancing down at it. “You want to be great and mighty warriors, is that it? Even you, Pateirn?”

“I – it will help me learn,” Pateirn said, glancing nervously over at the rest of the group. “I don’t know why everyone else is here.”

“Hmm.” Syl paused, still staring down at the book’s cover. “Why _should_ I sponsor you?”

“You were Pat’s first idea,” Val cut in, with an irreverent shrug. “I figured there was a chance he knows what he’s talking about. Clearly he trusts you.”

“Trusts,” Syl said, and smiled faintly. “I suppose so.”

“Ultimately,” Pateirn said, “it’s not our decision, of course – I was just hoping you’d consider us. If you in all your wisdom decide that we shouldn’t be sponsored, then that’s that.”

_Is he talking about fate?_

“Very flattering,” Syl said, looking up finally.

Everyone was silent for a moment.

“Well,” Val said, “if you’re not interested, that’s fine. But, listen; whoever sponsors us is sponsoring the winning team, I can assure you of that. I don’t mean to brag, but I seriously doubt anyone else at this contest is going to be able to best us.” For once, he didn’t seem overconfident, or arrogant; he just seemed honest.

“And why is that?”

“They’re all here for glory. I’m just here because I need to be. The same goes for Tam. The other two, I can’t really speak for, but with us that’s already a difference.”

“No, he’s right.” Pateirn glanced over, nodding. “I need to understand magic, how it works, how it’s not working. I’m not here to make money.”

“I need what the Guild can give me,” Alfo supplied, as Syl turned that piercing gaze on him. “The freedom. The strength.”

“Interesting,” Syllariss finally murmured. He slipped his finger out of the book and set it down on the table, gently; Tam couldn’t help but glance down at the cover. _Weaver’s Tapestry._ “I try not to indulge in a habit of sponsoring heroes, but in your case, I think I’ll make an exception.”

“We – oh! Thank you,” Pateirn said, startled. “I don’t, um, know how this – “

“You just need my name and word,” Syl assured him, reaching up to the owl. He took the scroll from her talons; she nibbled his finger affectionately. “I think you’ll do well.”

“Thanks,” Val said, speaking up. “We appreciate it.”

“Don’t make me regret it,” Syl said, and Tam couldn’t tell if he was making a joke out of it or not.

* * *

 

“Where else can we go?” Val wondered aloud, as they hurried down the street in the afternoon light. “Most places have already sponsored a team! They want nothing to do with us.”

“Some can sponsor multiple,” Tam said, staring into the distance.

“But they don’t want to, because we don’t look like a coherent, competent team,” Pateirn replied, tapping his fingers on the spellbook hooked into his robes. “Not to anyone but Syl, apparently.”

“You call him Syl, but you don’t like being called Pat. Why is that?” Val asked.

“’Cause it’s not my name. Stop it.”

Ahead, a small storefront glittered in the sun. Light reflected off bottles, jars, and vials that contained a multitude of different colored liquids, some shimmering and smooth, others opaque and filled with chunks of an unknown material.

“You think anywhere will sponsor a hero, don’t you?” Pateirn said, glaring at Val.

“I think they will if you’re convincing enough,” Val answered. “I’m going to get us sponsored in this shop. Right here.”

“Right here?”

“Yes.” Val turned and marched into the store.

Emblazoned on the front window of the store, engraved in failing gold etching, were the words “Lead to Gold.” Tam narrowed his eyes at them. This place seemed… ostentatious, and at the same time, rather flaky.

“Hello!” Val called in.

“Hello?!” shouted someone else, and over the counter appeared a gnome with a white beard and moustache and a floppy blue hat.

“I’m Valerian Redwyne, and my – “

“Are you here for a potion?” The gnome shouted.

“Er,” Val said.

Tam shook his head.

“No,” Val continued, “I’m here to ask about sponsoring my team for Heroes’ Day.”

The gnome squinted suspiciously at him. “Heroes’ Day?” he grumbled. “Well, I don’t know about Heroes’ Day, but… are you trying to make me give you money?”

“That’s the general gist of it, yes, but at the same time you’ll get lovely visibility if we win.”

The alchemist narrowed his already squinted eyes. This closed one of them. He blinked. “What can you give me in return?”

For a moment, Val was taken aback. “I – I can… write you a song, if you like,” he said.

_Really?_

He forged onwards. “A song specially for your store, actually. All about it! Whenever people hear it, they’ll think of it. A jingle.”

The gnome squinted at him for a few more seconds. “Okay,” he finally said, nodding with the entire upper half of his body. “That’ll work! Give me the song.”

“Give me a couple moments to write it,” Val shot back, pulling out a piece of parchment from the bag at his side. “Do you have a quill – there’s one. I’m just going to, ah, borrow this… Thanks.”

Pateirn ventured into the store. “Are you – what are you doing?”

“Getting us sponsored,” Val muttered. “Don’t distract me.”

Tam watched in fascination as Val began to scratch out uneven lines of cursive scripting, muttering to himself and occasionally scratching a word or two out to replace it with something else. He hummed every so often as he did so, testing out notes.

“What’s taking him so long?” the alchemist complained.

“I am concentrating,” Val yelled, from the corner of the store. He scribbled out a line and wrote something in its place. “Pat, engage everyone so I can think.”

“That’s not my name,” Pateirn muttered. “It’s Pateirn.”

The alchemist subsided.

After a minute or so more, Val stood up, cleared his throat, and sang out:

“Lead to gold, lead to gold  
boiling cauldron, glowing coals  
Need a potion, poison, poultice?  
Head to lead to gold!”

The gnome’s eyes lit up. “And people will sing this?” he asked.

“Sure,” Val said, with a shrug. “It’s catchy enough.”

_That’s not the only song he’ll write that catches on._

The gnome snatched the paper out of Val’s hand. “I’ll sponsor you! Have a good day!”

Val turned, eyebrows raised, and gestured to the door. The group left; outside, Val spotted a passing street bard and waved to him, trotting over.

“Head in there,” he said, pointing back towards the potion shop, “and the gnome will task you with spreading a song. He’ll pay for it, no doubt, but here’s the notes, which you’ll need because he _definitely_ doesn’t remember them, and can’t possibly sing.” He hummed the sequence.

The bard, baffled, hummed them back, then nodded and sidled away to Lead to Gold.

Val turned to Pateirn. “About the sponsorships, Pat,” he said, dusting his hands off, “you were saying?”

* * *

 

“I was _saying_ it’s hard to get them,” Pateirn growled, glaring at Val as the evening sunrays lanced between the stone buildings and cast slender shadows over the uneven cobblestone streets. “We haven’t gotten one since your little friend.”

“That man is not my friend,” Val clarified swiftly.

“Well, regardless, we haven’t gotten anything since, and it’s almost nightfall. Where do you expect us to go?”

“I don’t know,” Val snapped back, “I’ve never been to this city before.”

“’I can get us a sponsorship anywhere’,” Pateirn quoted.

“Once!”

“We don’t look like heroes,” Tam said. “They don’t believe we’ll succeed.”

Off to the left, a storefront window – just the bars over a counter – slammed down. A suspicious-looking elf stared from behind it at them.

“Tam’s right,” Val muttered, shaking his head. “See?”

_Talk to him._

Tam frowned. The elf? He looked up and caught the elf’s gaze.

“Excuse me,” Val called, noticing the elf’s attention.

A second shutter slammed down, hiding the elf from sight.

_Not that way. Wrong way._

Tam reluctantly reached forward and pulled Val back by the shoulder. “Please, we need to talk to you,” he called, in Elvish.

There was a moment of silence, and then the second shutter rattled slowly up. The elf peered out, frowning. Behind him was a stockroom with racks of unstrung bows and unmarked boxes packed along the walls. Tam caught sight of a sign that read “The Bow and String” behind the first shutter; underneath was the name ‘Trepanier de Sylvain.’

“What do you want?” the elf – Trepanier – asked.

“We need a Heroes’ Day sponsor,” Tam said. He glanced over to Pateirn.

“If you would – “ Pateirn started, but Trepanier shook his head sharply and kept his eyes on Tam.

“I think it’s just you, bud,” Val whispered in Tam’s ear.

_Great._

“We were hoping you would do it.”

The elf stared. “Perhaps,” he finally said, “but if I do, I want you to do something for me.”

Tam said nothing.

Trepanier seemed to approve. “I’ll have a task for you later. I’ll tell you then.”

Tam nodded. “Thank you.”

Without further ado, Trepanier slammed the shutter down again.

“…huh,” Alfo said, from out of view of the storefront.

“That was certainly interesting,” Val muttered. “What happened?”

“Success, I think,” Tam replied, and turned away.

* * *

 

The next day was cloudless and brilliant. At midmorning, the four of them arrived at the first Trial; it was walled, and they couldn’t see into it. They could see that they were the first group there.

“We came to the right place, yeah?” Val asked, glancing around. No one answered him.

There was a young woman sitting at a table near the entryway to the walled area. “Heroes’ Day?” she called, glancing to them.

“Yes!” Val called back, and hurried over. The group followed, Pateirn looking nervously around. Tam checked as well; two other groups were emerging from the streets, heading towards them.

“I’m Selsia Steelsong,” she began, glancing down at the book in front of her – not the same tome as the night before, but a different one. Less dusty. “And you are?”

“Valerian Redwyne, at your service,” Val said, bowing.

Selsia sighed. “Your group name.”

There was a slight pause.

“Group name,” Val said, tapping one finger on his chin. “Yes. Group name. Do we… need that?”

“All teams do,” Selsia replied.

Val frantically looked back to the others. “Group name?” he asked.

“The Competent Four?” Pateirn suggested.

“ _That’s_ your best?” Val frowned. “Ah… hm. Dragonblades?”

“That one already exists,” Selsia said. “From the sixteenth Heroes’ Day.”

“Damn.”

“Shining Blades?” Pat said.

“Nightmantle,” Alfo muttered under his breath, as if he were just now realizing it was a word.

“Sword and Song. Wait, no, Swordsingers,” Val tried.

“You don’t have to do it right now,” Selsia said, one eyebrow raised.

“Oh, really?”

“Yes. You will lose your position in line if you choose to wait, though.”

“Shit!” Val looked over them. “Quick, anyone?”

“Night Watch, Night Watchers, Night…” Alfo mumbled, staring at the cobbles.

“Night Guard?” Val tried, latching onto the pattern. “How about Night Guard? Because we... guard against darkness, and the night, and stuff.”

_That sounds right._

Alfo glanced up. “Wait, really?”

“I’m fine with it,” Pateirn said with a shrug.

Tam only nodded. He certainly wasn’t going to make something up.

“Night Guard,” Val proclaimed proudly, turning back to Selsia. “That’s it! That’s us. We’re the Night Guard.”


	3. Trials and Tribulations

The first trial, the Trial of Balance, was relatively simple – get across a gap to platform on the other side. Most of the party managed to get across by leaping from one small bamboo pole to the next, though Val fell the first time. Alfo snapped a few of the poles in his attempt, and Tam had a bit of trouble balancing on them, but overall it wasn’t hard.

“Pft,” Val said, folding his arms, as the platform they were on lowered to ground level and showed them a doorway to the next trial. “ _That_ was the first trial? Really? Becoming a Hero is even easier than I thought it might be.

The second trial was the Trial of Insight, as Selsia told them, when they reached it. “What do we do with this?” Val said, staring at the large, gray metal box in the center of the square.

“Enter,” Selsia said. Her voice was echoing from all around them; Tam didn’t actually see where she was.

They entered, Tam last; he glanced back out towards the city and stepped into the darkness with relief. The door shut behind them, and light streaming in through small windows illuminated a set of large tiles with letters carved into them. Four rows, four columns; sixteen letters.

T  N  A  Y  
V  Z  B  U  
W  H  E  I  
L  K  O  T

On the far side of the chamber was another doorway, leading back out to the square.

“Alright,” Val said, staring at it, “what is this?”

Selsia’s voice now echoed inside the chamber. The murmur of distant crowds was muffled by the thick walls of the cube; Val glanced up, then around. “The task is simple,” Selsia said. “Find the way out.”

“…that’s it?” Val said, and stepped forwards. Immediately a gout of flame poured out and he ducked underneath it with a yelp before stepping off the letter and leaping backwards to his companions.

“That’s clearly not the way to do this,” Pateirn said.

“Thank you, Pat, for your input.”

“That’s not my – never mind.”

“This is a new challenge,” Selsia told them. “It’s never been done before. You’re the first ones ever to see it.”

“Oh, fantastic,” Val muttered.

“All you need to do is find the way out.”

There was a click, and she didn’t say any more. Val glanced down with a sigh, narrowing his eyes at the tiles. “Okay,” he said, “well, can anyone fly?”

Tam had done so before, but it had taken assistance from another druid to do so. “No,” he said.

“No,” Pat agreed. “Not yet, anyway. I’m still working on that spell on command. It’s harder than you’d expect.”

“Can we use the walls?” Val edge over to one of the walls and touched its smooth surface; it was metal, immutable and smooth. “Yeah, never mind. Bad idea.”

“We gotta go across the tiles,” Alfo said. “No other way.”

“There must be a safe way to manage it, though, because otherwise the trial isn’t possible,” Pat countered. “Unless it’s about fireproofing yourself.”

“I doubt that. Trial of Insight.” Val frowned. “The letters must spell something.”

“I don’t know what that could possibly be, with this jumble of letters,” Pat muttered.

“’Hero,’ maybe?” Val said. “Oh, wait – no R.”

“Can’t be escape or exit, or egress,” Pat murmured. “Hmm…”

Tam thought about Selsia’s words, her intonation. “’Find the way out,’” Tam repeated, aloud. “That should be a clue.”

Val stared at the letters. “Oh!” he said, and stepped forward, onto the T.

“Wait!” Pat said, and reached out for him, but no flame came from above. Val glanced up, then back to them, grinning.

“The way out,” he said. “Look at the letters.”

Pat glanced down. “I see,” he said. “Alright! Whoever’s most agile –“

“Probably me,” Val said.

 “- you’ll be the one to jump onto further away letters.” Pat glanced over. “Alfo, take this one.”

“If you please,” Val added, stepping off the letter. Alfo stepped up to it; the tile pressed down under his foot, and nothing happened.

“Brilliant,” Val said. “Pat, do we have to do them in order, and keep them all down?”

“I don’t know, probably,” Pat said, with a shrug. “I guess we’ll find out?”

H was three rows in. Val crouched, then jumped, landing on the tile; he flailed his arms, but held steady, and the tile went down.

Tam had to jump to it as well to help press down the tiles in order – E, then W (that required some shifting around), then A and Y from Pat, then O from Val, and Alfo helped Pat hit move to get the U so Val could reach out and press down the last T.

With that, all the tiles slid down, and the far door opened. “Well done,” Selsia said, sounding pleased.

“Well, that _wasn’t_ so hard, after all,” Val said, grinning. “What’s next?”

The third trial revealed itself – the Night Guard climbed a ladder up what seemed to be a massive metallic basin, and crowded on the little platform at its lip. Across the basin – a good forty feet, perhaps more – there was another platform. That had to be the exit. The edge of the basin was exceptionally thin, and looked sharp.

“Welcome to the Trial of Creativity,” Selsia said. “Your final trial! You must cross the basin to the other side, all of you.”

Val glanced down, opening his mouth, and then paused. “What is _that?”_ he said, sounding disgusted.

Tam followed his gaze – at the center of the basin, in the bottom, was a slightly undulating puddle of nearly transparent liquid. It looked far more viscous than water – more like grease, perhaps, or melted fat.

Selsia did not answer. A bell rang, and Val glanced over at the others.

“It’ll be really hard to climb out,” he said. “Not without a rope. I doubt I can make it out of this one around the edge; we’ll have to be…” he sighed. “Creative, I suppose. That’s just the name of the trial, isn’t it? Of course it is.”

“That looks like an ooze,” Pat said, completely ignoring him. “Only…”

The puddle surged upwards, climbing up the side of the basin.

“Yep, that’s an ooze,” Pat said, stumbling back from the edge.

“I wonder…” Val paused. “You know, I don’t think there’s going to be any way to avoid getting terribly messy in this. I’m disgusted. Here, ooze! Here! Come here!”

“What… are you doing?” Alfo said, baffled.

The ooze began to crawl up the wall towards them, leaving a trail behind it. “See that?” Val said, pointing at the glistening grease on the metal. “Very slippery, right?”

“Probably. Why?”

“I’m going to use it. When it gets close, can someone bat it out of the way? I don’t think my _rapier_ is quite suited for that task.”

Tam thumped the end of his staff on the metal and stepped up next to Val, replacing Pat. Pat moved back.

The ooze kept coming until it had nearly reached the edge of the bowl. “Now,” Val said, pleasantly, and Tam reached down and swatted the ooze with the staff.

It took a few jabs, and the ooze tried to grab onto his staff when he poked at it, but eventually the mass of it fell backwards out of the way, flopping down the basin’s inner surface. “There we go,” Val said, and turned, grinning. “See you on the other side!”

With that he stepped off the ledge into the bowl and dropped out of sight. Tam leaned over to see him go – with the grace of an ice skater Val slid down the inner surface on the trail of grease, crossed the bottom of the bowl, and zipped up the other side. His momentum petered out near the top but he took a few running steps on the near vertical surface, reached, and just caught the edge of the ledge with one hand.

“Got it!” he shouted back. “I can hang here for a bit. Come on!”

Without any hesitation, Alfo mimicked Val’s maneuver. It did not go as well for him as it had for the bard; he slid to a halt in the center of the basin and glowered at the ooze as it began to flop soggily back down the wall towards him.

“This is disgusting,” Pat said, looking mildly horrified. “I hate this.”

On the other side of the ring, Val was trying to pull himself up onto the ledge. He got his other hand up and started inching towards the edge of the basin, no doubt hoping to use the second wall to help himself up. Tam watched him grab it, then scrape his boot soles off on the metal supports of the platform and very painfully pull himself over the edge.

“At least he made it,” he murmured.

“Do we have any rope?” Pat asked.

No, but Tam _did_ have magic. “No,” he said. Val was now back on the platform, kneeling, surveying the group. Tam looked Val dead in the eyes and sat on the ledge, then dropped into the basin.

He did not slide gracefully, but he did not fall or tumble, which was something. He _did_ go somewhat up the side, and that’s when he flung one hand out and manifested in a moment a long tendril of greenery, wrapped around his wrist and hand, that snapped up to where Val was.

True to his hopes, Val grabbed onto the end of the vine and pulled. He was not very strong, but Tam watched him turn and in a flash wrap it around something out of his sight, then haul on it, and using that Tam began to climb up towards him, clearing the last ten feet or so.

The vine, unfortunately, _was_ covered in thorns, and Val’s hands were now nicked and bleeding, but he didn’t seem to care. “Nice one!” he said, grinning at Tam.

Alfo, meanwhile, was testing various weapons, seeing which ones he could dig into the metal surface. Tam would have assumed the answer would have been ‘none,’ but strangely enough, he seemed to have enough strength to drive the tips of two handaxes in, and he began to use them to just climb the side of the bowl entirely on his own power.

“…impressive,” Val said, watching that.

Finally, Pat, on the other side, sighed and dropped off the edge. He slid down to the center, stared at the trail of slime left up the wall by Val and Tam, and raised one hand to where the ooze was slowly slipping its way around the bowl, coating even more of the metal in slime.

“Get out of here,” he said, and there was a flash of blue light and a crackling sound, and suddenly the ooze stopped moving. A wave of frost billowed out from it, racing over the slime that coated the metal, and with that solidiefied Pat began to clamber up the wall until he were far enough that he could jump for Tam’s hand.

Tam pulled him up, then Alfo, who reached the top and hooked a handaxe over the edge for extra support. There was a ladder on the other side leading down to the square again; they climbed down. Val landed with a flourish and a bow, and nearly fell over when Pat dropped down and bumped into him.

“Well done,” Selsia said, sounding impressed. “I’ve never seen anyone freeze the ooze before. Congratulations!” She strode out from around the edge of the bowl, voice no longer booming; she smiled at them, tucking her hands into the sleeves of her robe. “You’ve completed the Trials; the next group will begin soon. Now, for you, there is one last task left.”

“Wait, what else is there? I thought there were only the three Trials,” Val immediately said, frowning.

“There are. And then there is the Grand Melee.”

“The what?” Pat said instantly, pulling back.

“The Grand Melee.” Selsia’s eyes sparkled. “It is a trial by combat. The top three teams will compete against each other in a battle to claim the coveted position of Hero. You must defeat the other teams to win the contest.”

“Hang it for a moment,” Val said, “you mean actually fight?”

“Yes.”

“…do we kill them?”

“Ideally, no, but if they die, that is what they signed up for.”

“Oh.”

“As long as it isn’t actually melee, I’m fine with it,” Pat muttered. “Don’t let anyone get close to me.”

“Can I have my wolf?” Alfo tried.

“Absolutely not,” Selsia said. “That is an unfair advantage. Your wolf is not a member of the Night Guard.”

Alfo subsided, muttering to himself. Val swept his cloak aside, revealing the rapier he had hanging from one hip. “Very well,” he said, grinning. “When do we fight?”

“Tomorrow at noon.”

“Fantastic.”

* * *

 

“There’s one party of Fjordans,” Pat said.

“And one of elves, from Sindaleth,” Alfo added.

“If we can get them to fight each other, we may be able to get out without too many scratches, and we can clean up whoever’s left over.”

Tam was silent. The tavern was emptier than before – all the groups who had failed earlier trials were gone, as well as anyone who hadn’t made the top three. The other two teams were each positioned in a corner of the tavern room as far away from the Night Guard and each other as possible.

“The dwarves hit hard, and the elves are quick,” Pat mused. “Though it looks like they’re in heavier armor. It’ll definitely take the Fjordans to break through to them.”

“I might be able to,” Val said, “but I wouldn’t like risking it.”

_Don’t do that._

“I can get through.” Alfo patted his axe, which was propped up against the table.

_That’s better._

“Fair enough.”

“So our plan is to hide?” Pat asked, glancing around at everyone. “Hide and pretend we don’t exist? Deliberately not fight, like cowards?”

“I mean, when you put it like that it sounds terrible,” Val sighed. “But it’s a strategy.”

“That’s fair,” Pat said with a shrug. “I don’t have a problem with it.”

“Then that’s that. We’ll rest; tomorrow, we become Heroes.”

* * *

 

They entered the field the following day at noon. Tam was curious how they had accomplished so much in so little time; the center of the square had been transformed into a massive proving ground, with several pools of water and a large hill, as well as several tangles of thick underbrush over the grass and various boxes and crates scattered about. Val immediately fixed his eyes on a stack of barrels.

“What’s in those?” he whispered to the group.

“What’s in the box?” Pat hissed back, also eyeing the stack.

“New plan,” Val muttered. “We get the boxes.”

“Really?” Tam said, finally. Were they about to abandon their plan for a box?

“Could be useful,” Pat said, narrowing his eyes. “And there’s several of them.”

“Good to hide behind, too.”

“…really?” Tam sighed.

“Welcome to the Grand Melee,” came Selsia’s voice, booming through the air. “The rules are simple: If you leave the area, you are disqualified. If you fall, you lose. Eliminate all other teams to succeed. Good luck, champions.”

There was a moment of silence as the teams surveyed each other, then Val sprang into action, darting towards the boxes. He crouched behind them and pulled the side off of one, peering into it. Pat hurried over beside him. Tam saw a faint gray pouch disappear into Val’s pocket.

One of the elves strung a bow with incredible speed and fired off a volley at the Fjordans. Immediately, those two groups went at each other, though one of the elves caught sight of the Guard and took a shot at them. Tam moved over to Val, determined not to let him come to _too_ much harm, and crouched next to the boxes.

“There goes Alfo,” Val said, watching the dwarf move forwards towards an elven warrior in armor. “Going right for the big one.”

“Hmm,” Pat said, and fired off a blast of blue light at the armored elf. It hit and he staggered, then turned, searching for the source.

Alfo traded a few blows with him, and Val shouted a few choice insults – which seemed to be pointless, except that Tam could feel the magic woven into his words, sense the damage it did when the targets of his mockery stumbled where they stood or clutched at their skulls.

The battle was very quick – too fast for Tam to follow. Val and Pat stayed mostly in cover, though one of the elves got too close and Val was forced to move up and physically fight him, parrying the thrusts of his curved longsword with flashing jabs of his rapier and laughing retorts.

“Is _that_ your best?” He cried, as the elf missed another attack. “I would be surprised you got this far in the contest, but none of them required fighting, so perhaps you didn’t quite let on that you were worthless.”

The elf’s next blow caught him on the side and he cried out and darted backwards, blood already soaking through his previously pristine clothing.

Tam tried to keep an eye on the battle, but couldn’t – mainly because, partway through, one of the elves fired off a strange projectile at him that unfolded into a net, wrapping around him and knocking him backwards onto the ground. He couldn’t move, or cast, and had to simply lay there uselessly until someone pulled him upright and started to yank the net off. It was _sticky,_ not just entangling, and clung to him.

It was Val who’d come over. “Bit of a cheater move, I’d say,” he muttered, pulling out a small dagger and starting to saw at the ropes. “Let’s get you out of there. Alfo’s doing alright but he could use some –“

An arrow zipped out of nowhere and pinged off the dagger’s blade, knocking it out of Val’s hand. He yelped and fell backwards onto the ground, eyes wide, then glanced up – an elf was advancing on them, bow already drawn again. Val grabbed something off his belt and pointed it right back.

“No one lays a finger on my family,” Val shouted, and fired off the _already loaded_ hand crossbow he’d been carrying around.

Tam glanced down in time to see the crossbow jam. Val stared at it, confused, and pulled it back, lifting it to look at the mechanism. It fired the bolt directly into Tam’s leg.

“Oh, shit,” Val said, and glanced over to the elf in the armor. “Except me!” he shouted. “I’m allowed to do that!”

“Unbelievable,” Pat said, nearby.

The elf raised an eyebrow. “Wow,” they said, “that… was really something.”

“You know what’s something?” Val snapped. “The fact that your entire team is down.”

“I can take you all on my own.”

“Oh really? Is that so?” Val glared, holding the elf’s attention. Tam didn’t see Alfo at the moment; the elf wasn’t looking for him either. Val shook hair out of his eyes, practically shouting in the elf’s face, ensuring he was the center of attention. “Because I really don’t think you know the full scale of what you’re dealing with here! Why, I don’t believe you even –“

With a solid thwack, Alfo’s axe cracked into the back of the elf’s head. He gasped, stumbled, and went down, collapsing in his armor. Alfo pulled his axe away and set it heavily on the ground, panting.

“Thanks, Alfo! Good one. Well done. Is that all of them?” Val asked.

Alfo nodded. “Yep.”

It was over, and they were the only ones left.

“Elder Vale, behold your champions,” Selsia called. “The newest heroes of the Guild: The Night Guard!”


	4. The Threads of Fate

“Holy shit,” Val said, from where he sat in the dirt. “We did it!”

Alfo nodded where he stood, nonplussed. Tam looked towards the unfortunate elf he’d struck down – that one might not live unless someone healed him, and fast.

A number of dawnbringers in the yellow-orange of Lathander hurried out into the field and began to tend to the felled adventurers. Alfo had to step back to let several of them pass to cluster around the elf he’d slashed down.

Val hauled himself to his feet and dusted his clothes off, then glanced over at Tam. “Oops,” he said, and hurried over to cut the rest of the fishing net off with his knife. Tam sat there while he did so, expression neutral.

The dawnbringers stepped up to them too. “Let us help,” one of them said. “You’re wounded.”

“I don’t care,” Val said, grinning.

“…you’re bleeding heavily,” one of the dawnbringers said, staring at him. “We can fix that.”

“Yeah, yeah. Fix Tam instead, he’s the one who’s more hurt.”

“You shot me,” Tam said.

“It was an accident! I’m _sorry!”_

One of the dawnbringers raised an eyebrow and shook her head. Val rolled his eyes and exhaled sharply. “It’s not my fault my crossbow jammed – never mind. Where do we go next? What do we do?”

The answer was that they, after being tended to (a process which Val complained constantly throughout), were finally allowed to enter the Heroes’ Guild.

The Heroes’ Guild was in actuality a large complex of buildings situated about halfway between the city center and the outer wall, ringed by its own set of gray-stone watchtowers. Multicolored pennants flew from the spires of the buildings sprawled across the grounds; as Selsia led the Night Guard through the large main archway into the complex, Tam could hear the distant clash of metal on metal as some heroes sparred in the courtyard beyond the main hall. The expanse of grass before the buildings was carefully tended and green. Tam narrowed his eyes and looked towards the edges – away from the main drive, the foliage broke free and grew up into a thick forest that pressed against the inner walls.

Selsia first led them into a small building with tall windows that looked into a sort of study. “All new heroes receive a gift,” she said, “and I believe I know exactly what all of you would like.”

She led them in and hurried over to a desk in the center of the room. “First,” she said, “all of you -  this is your badge of office, the sign that you are Heroes of the Guild. Your silver dragon – even you, Tam, are able to wear this.”

Each of them received a pendant of a coiled dragon, rendered in pure silver, on a steel chain. Tam’s was strung on leather instead of silver, and he graciously accepted it. The metal did not feel strange and heavy as metal usually did for him; it must have been specifically designed to be tolerable for druids.

“Next,” Selsia said, stepping over to an oak dresser and lifting something off the top of it, “I have better gifts for you all. Here – Pateirn, this is yours now. You will see many things you otherwise would not.”

It was a crystalline sphere, slightly larger than a grapefruit, with both a stand and a sling for carrying it. Pateirn took it reverently in his hands and peered into its depths; images reflected in his eyes that no one else could see inside the glassy surface.

“Valerian,” Selsia said, and turned to a multi-hooked stand with cloaks hanging off it. She picked one off and handed it to him. “This is yours. It will hide you when you need it to.” The cloak was a soft gray color, but it seemed to change in the light, and it flowed as easily as water. Val took it and swept it around his shoulders; it seemed to melt into the background.

“I promise I’ll use it mostly for good,” he quipped with a grin.

“Alfo,” Selsia said, ignoring Val, “I feel you will find this useful.” From behind the desk she produced a round wooden shield, the edges rimmed in metal. “This shield will help you in battle should your foes seek to strike you from afar.”

Alfo took the shield, smiling grimly, and hefted it on one arm. Its scarred surface matched him perfectly. Shadow, by his side, sniffed the edge and flicked her ears forward.

“And Tamerlane,” Selsia finished, opening a chest. She took out a cloth-wrapped object, longer even than Tam was tall, and laid it on the desk. It buzzed slightly, and she pulled the cloth back to reveal a wooden staff with leaves growing off it. More interestingly, however, it was surrounded by tiny bees and crawling with ants.

“This seems like it belongs with you.” She gestured to the table.

Tam glanced at his current staff – nothing special, just an ash branch. Carefully, he set it aside and stepped over to the desk. The staff in front of him hummed, not only with energy, but with the sound of the bees and the other insects that inhabited it. He held out one hand. Several beetles and a centipede scuttled down his sleeve onto the staff, where they joined the others there.

He carefully curled his fingers around the staff. The ants crawled harmlessly over his hands; he stood it on the ground and looked up to its gnarled top. Yes, this was a good staff. He tapped it on the floor twice, then leaned on it.

Selsia looked everyone over, then turned and headed out of the room, beckoning for the Guard to follow her. “These are yours to do with as you will. They may aid you in your travels, or you may choose to discard them whenever you like.”

“No, don’t worry,” Val said, “I think I’ll make good use of this.” The cloak billowed around him as he followed Selsia down the steps into the courtyard.

“I’m sure you will. But of course, simple items are not the reason behind our Guild’s power.” Selsia stopped in front of the vast door to the main hall.

Silence. They waited for her to speak; she looked them over one last time.

“Now you will see what makes our heroes as strong as they are.” With that she turned and pushed the double doors open, revealing the great hall of the Guild. It was a grand room filled with columns, tables, and on the far end…

“This is the Weave of Fate,” she announced, gesturing to tapestry that covered the entire side of the hall. It was not still, but swung gently in a breeze too faint to feel. Anyone else in the hall cleared out of the way as they walked down past a massive firepit and several long wooden tables. “See the tapestry, and choose your fate. In choosing it, you will become something new.” Selsia climbed the three steps leading up to the tapestry and turned to face the Night Guard. “Are you ready?”

The tapestry was at least ten feet long, three or four feet high, hung just above the floor. The faint wavering motion of the Weave made the threads glitter in the firelight and the light that shone in through the windows in the vaulted ceiling of the hall. It didn’t seem to immediately have any sort of discernable pattern to it – just a miasma of colors that shifted and changed as Tam looked at it. Patterns and shapes seemed to surge out of the chaos for mere moments, then vanish again, as if it were a moving picture he was seeing. The air around it was still, but almost seemed to hum with latent power.

There was a moment of silence, and then Alfo stepped forwards, up the stairs. Shadow stayed down below, watching him carefully. The dwarf reached out one hand and ran it along a pattern of dark thread that wove its way through the entire tapestry, black as soot and hard to look at. “This one,” he rumbled. “I choose this.”

“You choose death,” Selsia said quietly, “but whose death is up to you.”

Alfo stepped back, and Pateirn was right behind him, already climbing the stairs. “This,” he said, reaching up and touching a series of blue-white lines that split in fractal patterns across the top of  the tapestry, disappearing and reappearing unexpectedly later. “This one is mine.”

Selsia nodded. “You choose knowledge. Be wary, for knowledge is dangerous… though you have already learned that by now.”

Val waited until Alfo and Pat had moved out of the way, then stepped up and surveyed the tapestry for a moment. He smiled and touched a smooth, deep red thread, silky and alive, the undertone of the tapestry that leaped in and out of other colors. “I choose to inspire,” he said, and Selsia blinked, surprised. He glanced over with a smile. “I pick my own future.”

“So you do,” she murmured, and smiled.

Tam gripped his staff and stared up at the tapestry.

“Tam? What’ll you do?” Val asked, watching him.

The tapestry’s weave shimmered, changing as it hung still on the wall. Tam narrowed his eyes. The Weave didn’t have a pattern – it was simply uncontrolled lines, a mess of color. He still couldn’t notice a specific design in it. But the shapes in the colors he’d noticed before – they were there, shifting and moving, and in them…

…was that a tree?

He found himself stepping up to the tapestry and brushing his fingers over its ancient surface. The thread beneath his fingertips felt almost rough, coarse green wool threads poking in and out of the weft. As he did so he felt that hum in the air echo in his bones for a moment, echo inside his mind.

“You choose to wander.” Selsia’s voice was almost sad. “To know comfort is to be home, but you will never have that.”

_That’s right._

Tam stepped back. “So be it.”

“Your fate is now in your hands,” Selsia told them. “Much like with your gifts, what you do with it is yours to determine. Know that from now on you cannot be who you were; only who you are. From this there is no going back.”

_As it should be. This was always meant to be._

“Come. I will show you where you’ll be staying; then we can discuss what you can do for the Guild. There are many quests for you to do, much for your to accomplish, and no time sooner to begin than now.” She beckoned and stepped away from the Weave, leading the party back out of the hall.

Tam took one last look at the tapestry as he left, but the image of the tree was gone.


	5. The Eye of the Sunwatchers

The hubbub in the great hall of the Heroes’ Guild was low tonight; a low pall of smoke hung over the tables, the remnants of a roast from earlier.

“You know,” Val muttered, leaning back in a chair with his feet propped up on the table, “I thought perhaps in the Heroes’ Guild we’d be doing something more heroic than what we’ve got.”

“We just went to the tomb of an old hero,” Pat countered.

“Yeah, but not a whole lot happened, except for someone who should’ve been fine falling in a ravine and almost dying.”

“We saw a dragon.”

“Two dragons, in fact,” Val corrected. “But we didn’t do anything with them.”

“…Is that not impressive enough? Have you seen dragons before, or something?”

“No, but I’ve seen some really big whales, and honestly that’s just as impressive.”

“How – “ Pat started, and cut himself off, shaking his head. “Never mind. Honestly, I’m worried about what I’ve heard from Nilve Thalor.”

“About the magic?”

Pat nodded. “High-level spells aren’t working anymore. Something’s wrong with magic.”

“Doesn’t affect us, at the very least,” Val said, and swept one hand through the air. A glowing red mist followed his fingertips, fading after a few seconds; he fiddled with a few small ribbons of light, winding them through his fingers before dismissing them from existence. “I don’t see us using world-changing magic any time soon.”

“You don’t get it. The strongest magic is failing, but that’s only the beginning. That’s been happening for weeks. Now it’s affecting lesser wizards and mages, too. It’s spreading.”

“Oh.” Val paused. “How long will it take before magic just doesn’t work?”

“I don’t know, but Nilve Thalor is going to be in trouble when that happens.” Pat drummed his fingertips nervously on the table. “The city is kept afloat _by magic alone._ If there’s no magic… well, it’s coming down.”

“How do you fix it?” Alfo, seated next to Val, spoke up. “Gotta be able to fix it somehow.”

The main entryway opened. Tam glanced up, drifting away from the conversation to look down towards the door. Someone had stepped in, looking around: the elf that had sponsored them, Trepanier.

Tam carefully reached out and tapped on the center of the table, getting everyone’s attention, then pointed. The elf searched the crowd of heroes until he spotted them and hurried over.

“I have a task for you now,” he said, when he came up to them. He spoke only to Tam.

Val raised an eyebrow, then glanced over to Tam, who looked up at him and waited.

“Not here,” the elf said.

Val shrugged and stood. “Side hallway, then,” he muttered, and led the group out of the main hall and into a side passageway, and from there into a small, unused study.

“Very well,” Val said, closing the door behind them, “what’s going on?”

The elf glanced between them and said nothing.

Tam, reluctantly, spoke up. “What are we doing?”

“I need you to take this to Sindaleth,” Trepanier said, and produced a small maple box from a bag slung over one shoulder. “To the Circles. Don’t lose it. Don’t look inside it. No delays.”

“What’s in it?” Val poked his head over Tam’s shoulder, staring down at the box.

Trepanier steadfastly ignored Val. “Do this quickly,” he said, green eyes boring into Tam’s. “It is of utmost importance. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He turned and slipped out the door, disappearing into the hallway and out the building. Val watched him go, then turned to Tam.

“So what’s in it?” he asked, peering over his shoulder at the box.

“I don’t know, and we’re not going to find out.”

“But – !” Val slumped a little. “He told us not to look. You realize that just makes me want to look at it, right?”

“I’m aware.” Tam touched the latch on the box – it wasn’t even locked – and looked over the plain woodwork before carefully stowing it away in a pouch under his robes.

“Bugger,” Val muttered to himself. He folded his arms.

“Sindaleth,” Pat muttered, narrowing his eyes. “I’ve never been there.”

“It’s far enough to be troublesome.” Tam swept his cloak over the box. “We should go now.”

“…right now?” Val asked, incredulous. “Talk about short notice.”

“I’ll pack,” Alfo grumbled, as he turned and stumped away down the hall. Val swept in the opposite direction and disappeared around the corner; moments later he reappeared and went down the hall, in the right direction this time.

Pat remained standing next to Tam. “The box,” he said, once the others were out of earshot. “What’s in there? It’s magic, I think, but I can’t tell. I can’t see inside it.”

_Be cautious. Some people are more susceptible than others to the tug of mystery._

“We won’t be looking,” Tam replied, and pulled his hood up as he walked away.

* * *

 

He was not cautious enough.

The Night Guard were gathered around a table with a map on it, staring down at the route from Elder Vale to Sindaleth.

“It looks fairly straightforward,” Val said, with a shrug. “We’ve got to pass through some mountains, but it’s not a big deal. Shouldn’t be too long.” He rubbed one side of his forehead, frowning. “Right? Not that I’ve been out that way before.”

“Neither have I,” Alfo said, leaning on the table with his arms folded.

“But we’re supposed to deliver it as quickly as possible; that’s what, uhh… Trapeze said. Trapeze?” Val glanced up, blinking as he scoured his memory. “That’s not his name.”

“Trepanier,” Tam said quietly.

“Right! That. Trepanier. Fun to say. Anyway, we should take the mountain pass. It looks shortest.”

“Could be dangerous,” Alfo countered. He narrowed his eyes at the map and shook his head slightly, as if to drive away a small insect or a distant sound.

“Yeah, but so could the whole journey.”

Tam had set the maple box on the table, in full view of everyone. He didn’t like it, but the others demanded to know where it was, so he had to provide it to them. Every so often, he could hear a faint whispering emanating from it, unintelligible and distant. He resolutely ignored the voice.

But he still saw people cast glances towards it, saw their gazes linger on the caramel-colored wood. Most often it was Pat. _Keep your eyes down and your ears dulled,_ Tam thought.

“Tam,” Val said, drawing his attention. “You’ve been to Sindaleth, yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“What’s the best and quickest way there?”

“Fly.”

Alfo and Val exchanged a look. “Not all of us can turn into birds, Tam,” Val said after a moment. “Actually, you’re the only one who can.”

Tam shrugged. “You asked. I answered.”

“I mean, that’s fair – Pat!”

 _Oh no._ Tam turned in time to see Pat lift the maple box and unlatch the lid. He grabbed for it, but it was too late – it was open, and Pat was staring down into it.

A glittering orange-yellow light shone from within, reflecting off Pat’s face like the reflection of noon-light off a pond. Now Tam could also make out the words in the whispers that emanated from the contents.

“Take me to Sindaleth,” it whispered. “Take me home.”

“Holy Hells,” Val whispered. Pat lowered the box and set it on the table.

Resting inside, nestled in a swath of dark blue velvet, was a gemstone the size of Tam’s fist. Ribbons of orange and yellow swirled through its depths, and the light it shed pooled in the cloth inside the box like honey. It was warm, in the air around it; it radiated heat like a sun-washed stone.

“What are you?” Pat asked, and sniffed nervously.

“I am the Eye of the Sunwatchers. I am the gate to the realm’s power. I am a beacon for two worlds.”

“Oh,” Pat said.

“Why’d he tell us not to look in the box?” Val asked out loud, after a moment. Everyone looked over to him.

“What?” Alfo said, staring.

Val shrugged. “Trepanier wanted us to take it to Sindaleth. It wants to go to Sindaleth. What’s the problem? Could’ve just told us what it was, or let us know that it was… I don’t know, sentient? Is it sentient? That’s not the point. We all want to go. There was no need to be all sneaky about it.”

“You’re talking about being sneaky,” Alfo snorted, shaking his head.

“My sneaking is entirely different,” Val said, affronted.

“Guys.” Pat waved his hand over the Eye. “Topic at hand.”

“Right.”

“Take me to Sindaleth,” the Eye murmured again. “Take me home.”

The Eye of the Sunwatchers… the name was familiar. “I’ve heard of this,” Pat said suddenly, staring at it. “This belongs in a tower somewhere, right? It has… connections to magic.”

Strong ones. Tam knew of it – the two closest planes to the Material, the Shadowfell and the Feywild, were connected in various ways. The Eye was the strongest connector to the Feywild – but not when it was displaced. And when it was displaced, magic did not work properly, because everything had to be in balance for magic to function.

Which meant that if the Eye were here, right now, something was very wrong indeed.

Tam snapped the lid of the box shut and the whispers of the Eye returned to a barely audible murmur. He glared at Pat before stowing the box away again, safely under his cloak. “We leave tonight.”


	6. Under the Korin's Head Mountains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first volume of Tamerlane's accounts is small; the second much larger, and older. The oldest in the set, in fact. It is well-worn leather and soft paper, the edges stained by water and mud and soot, frayed to softness by the amount of times they've been bent, bumped, and touched. Still, the words are legible, and there are fewer missed lines or erased segments. It is clear - this was an account from the time of the Night Guard's journey, and it is one written from Tamerlane's crystal-clear memory.

They set out early, almost before sunrise. From the beginning, the journey was easy; they left Elder Vale and headed north, out through the valley and into the mountains, taking a shorter pass towards Sindaleth rather than the longer route around the mountains and through the plainsland roadway. They needed to be fast – so through the mountains it was.

Every night they had several watches, though nothing ever came near the camp that was more dangerous than a few curious animals easily chased away with a wave or a shout or a growl from Shadow.

Two weeks in, Tam did _not_ wake up to the sound of birds and the smell of the leftover ash from the campfire. No, instead, he awoke in darkness.

This was not the camp, he realized, because he was on stone, with his hands bound behind him.

Intriguing.

What did he remember? Nothing. He hadn’t awoken for any change between going to sleep at the camp and waking up here. His head did hurt, though.

He sniffed the air. Dirt, muck, stone, orcs. For a moment he was silent; he felt rats around him, on the ground, and knew that they were climbing up the walls as well. They were waiting for him to awake. There didn’t seem to be anyone moving around in the room. Perhaps the orcs weren’t here right now; he wasn’t sure. He could definitely hear breathing.

“The bonds,” he murmured, as quietly as he could, to his rats. “Break them.”

The rats slipped over, silent on the stone floor, and Tam felt them cluster around his wrists, gnawing at the coarse rope. It took only a few moments for them to chew through it.

He couldn’t see anything. The darkness here was absolute. Carefully he felt around, trying to uncover –

There was a person. Someone lay on the floor next to him. Tam felt a shoulder and shook it gently.

“Hmm?” The voice – it was Pat.

“We have been captured,” Tam informed him quietly, and heard him take a swift breath. “They found us in the night.”

“Well, shit,” Pat muttered. “There’s no one in here right now – except us.” He paused. “You can’t see in the dark, can you?”

“No.”

He turned to look around the room. “We’re in a… pen? Alfo’s off in the center of the room. Val is over there against a rock. No one else is around. I can see tunnels leading off in two different directions.”

“Where is the Eye?”

Pat went still. “I don’t know,” he said.

Presumably, wherever my staff and cloak are, Tam thought. He nodded. “I’ll free the others. And you.”

Pat paused with his hands half-extended. “How?”

Tam, without answering, dissolved into a heap of rats. He saw through fifty eyes, smelled with twenty-five noses, felt through a hundred clawed feet.

“Well, that’s horrifying,” Pat said, mostly to himself.

Tam swarmed around him and made short work of the ropes holding his hands together. Now that he was in this form, he could see in the near-perfect darkness. Alfo was in the center of the chamber, chained in metal manacles. Tam scurried over and looked him over; he was unconscious but stirring awake.

Nothing we can do about the metal, Tam thought, and then he heard sound from one of the tunnels. He scattered, climbing the walls and ceiling as two orcs stomped into the chamber, hissing and muttering to themselves in their guttural tongue.

At this point, Val awoke. Tam saw him stir, look around, swear to himself as he tried to pull loose of his bindings. The orcs noticed and sneered to themselves, amused by his feeble efforts.

 _Don’t look in the pen,_ Tam hoped. They’d certainly notice his disappearance if they did.

They looked in the pen, and Tam was forced to drop onto one and attempt to kill it. The rats swarmed over the orc’s body; it screamed as their teeth tore into its flesh. It batted at Tam’s form - forms - but couldn’t manage to knock him away.

“What the hell is going on?” Val called, from near the wall.

“Fighting!” Pat called back, as Alfo woke up. He wrangled the manacles out in front of him and began to beat the second orc with them.

“Fighting who?!”

“Orcs!” Alfo slammed his fist into an orc’s knee, knocking it off balance. It stumbled and nearly fell.

Tam continued to tear at the orc he was on, ripping its skin off and throwing shreds of it to the ground. His swarm boiled around the orc’s feet and devoured every fallen scrap.

“Kill, Alfo! Kill!” Val shouted, into the darkness. His encouragement was answered with a hoarse choking sound as Alfo moved back to punch the orc in the chest, then the throat, and when it doubled over he reached up and snapped its neck with his bare hands.

“That’s the stuff!” Val yelled, hearing the sound.

Pat was messing with the edge of the pen, trying to figure out how to escape. Tam focused on the orc’s throat and burrowed into it, tearing it to shreds in a spray of flesh. The orc collapsed, gurgling, choking on his own blood.

The room went silent, aside from the rats. They were chewing on the orcs’ bodies, though some of them skittered over to Val to chew his bindings away. He almost fell over once he was away from the stone barely managed to stay upright, rubbing his wrists. “I can’t see shit,” he muttered. “Does anyone have a torch?”

Everyone’s possessions were missing, but a search around the room revealed a box containing Pat’s robes and his crystal ball. He hurriedly donned them, muttering angrily to himself the entire time, and slung the orb around his shoulders to hang next to his spellbook.

With that, however, he was able to snap his fingers and conjure a light. “Thank the gods,” Val said, as soon as the crystal ball began to glow. “That’s a – where’s Tam?”

“He’s the rats,” Pat said.

“Oh, alright.” Val glanced around, seeming a little unnerved. “Did… wow, that’s disgusting.”

“Mmhm.” Pat pursed his lips. “We need to get out of here.”

“Not until we find Shadow,” Alfo cut in, holding up a hand.

“…Shadow got captured?”

“She wouldn’t run. I know her.” He shook his head. “Shadow would attack. She’s here somewhere.”

“Damn.” Val looked over one of the orcs’ bodies, poking around in the ragged clothes. “We need our stuff, too, and – hey! A knife!” He scooped up a rusty black dagger in one hand and examined it. He grinned, delighted. “It’s a piece of shit.”

“They came from that hallway,” Pat said, pointing towards the left tunnel. “We should see where it goes.”

“And walk into more orcs?” Val glanced up, wrinkling his nose. “Is that wise?”

“Shadow’s probably down that way.”

“Alright, fair enough.” Val gave the dagger an experimental thrust, then nodded. “But can we try to be… I don’t know, sneaky, maybe?”

The tunnel led to an open cavern, a wide open space with a deep pit cutting through the stone. Pat leaned over the edge, but couldn’t spot the bottom.

Several caves branched off the main cave. The nearest one had a bit of light pouring out; inside was a tunnel that sloped down into a smaller room. There was an orc sleeping in a rough wooden chair. On one side of the room was a pen, much finer than the one Tam and Pat had been contained in. Two shapes shuffled around in the muddy interior.

On the other side of the room was an iron stake dug into the ground, and chained to it was Shadow, muzzled and furious. She was awake, but seemed to be subdued for the moment; she was too far from the sleeping orc to attack him.

“Shadow,” Alfo murmured, and just that was enough for her ears to prick up. She raised her head and looked towards the entryway to the cave.

 “I can get the lock,” Val murmured. “We don’t want the orc to wake up and sound the alarm. I don’t know how many of these assholes are in these caves, and I do not want to fight them all.”

Tam peered closer, sending some of himself in to see the orc better. He was sleeping and holding a staff of some sort, propped up against his shoulder. Wood, with a gnarled end –

 _That’s mine,_ he realized. _We will have to kill him to recover it. The Eye cannot be far away._

Val slipped through the shadows cast by the torch in the wall sconce. He was surprisingly swift and startlingly quiet as he moved over to Shadow and, after glancing over the muzzle, stuffed the tip of the dagger into the lock.

“That’s not going to work,” Pat muttered, watching.

After a few seconds, Val managed to get it to twist, and there was a faint snick as the lock opened. Val swallowed nervously, jumping back as the muzzle came off. Alfo clicked his tongue against his teeth and Shadow, after a longing glance at the sleeping orc, trotted past and up the tunnel.

“…didn’t see that one coming,” Pat said.

After a few seconds Val returned to the group, taking a moment to peer inside the second pen. “There’s boars in the pen,” he whispered, when he reached everyone. “One big and one little. And, um… the orc has Tam’s staff. I saw his cloak too, in a box over by the chair.”

Alfo looked up from where he was crouched and ruffling his fingers through Shadow’s fur, scratching behind her ears. “We need to get that, then,” he said, and stood.

“How?”

“Kill him.”

“What did we just say about raising the alarm?” Pat hissed.

“Could throw his body in the chasm,” Val suggested.

“Oh, because that won’t make a horribly loud sound.”

“It would get rid of the body!”

“Snap his neck, leave him here,” Alfo said, with a shrug.

Pat sighed, stepped forwards, and raised one hand. Three bolts of blue-white light shot out from the tip of his finger and slammed into the orc’s head, knocking him backwards; the chair rocked, but didn’t fall, and he shook his head, waking.

“What – “ he managed, and then Shadow bounded forwards and in a moment of poetic justice leaped on him and ripped his throat out.

The entire operation was nearly silent. The lifeless orc collapsed to the ground as Shadow stepped back.

Tam swarmed forwards, over the walls, and collected near his cloak and clothes. He coalesced into a human form again and picked them up. His bags and pouches were here, including – thankfully – the one that held the box that contained the Eye of the Sunwatchers. He checked on it, opening the box a crack to see the light inside. It glittered on the wall behind him, and nodded and he shut the box.

His staff, once he had collected the rest of his materials, was still lying against the chair, where the orc had dropped it when he’d died. Tam picked it up and felt it hum in his hands.

Somehow, though, it felt… diminished. He looked it over for a moment before realizing the problem.

 _It’s been used,_ he thought, and glanced over to the dead orc. Really!?

“None of my… anything, in here?” Val called quietly, glancing around.

Tam shook his head.

“Damn it!”

They moved on, upwards alongside the chasm’s edge. The next tunnel they found was smaller and it bent around a curve, but firelight flickered out.

“Someone’s in there, probably,” Val muttered.

The Night Guard entered anyways. As they rounded the bend they saw before them on the other side of the fire an older orc, a shaman by the looks of it. He was watching them carefully.

“You’ve escaped,” he observed.

“Ah – yes?” Val said.

The shaman began to speak; Val and Pat seemed to be listening intently.

Tam glanced around the room. It was small and comfortable; he could see sleeping furs, and a small cooking stand with a pot in it, set to the side of the fire. Bits of fur and feathers were scattered across the floor; they didn’t seem to be from any one particular creature. Tam sniffed; the room was a miasma of the scents of different animals. The cavern roof wasn’t as rough as the stone in other areas. This room was lived in, and had been for quite some time.

“If you kill the Orog and our chieftain, Duirash,” the shaman said, drawing Tam’s attention, “I will release you with five years of everything we have stolen.”

Val glanced over at Pat and Alfo, then back towards Tam. “Sounds alright by me,” he said, with a shrug.

The shaman smiled. “Excellent,” he said. “Then we have a deal.”

“Sure do. Do you have my stuff?”

“No,” the shaman said, “Duirash does. I do, however, have his.” He nodded to Alfo, who was seated next to Shadow.

“My weapons?”

“Your axe, and everything else you were bearing,” the shaman said, with a nod. He indicated a dark wood chest tucked into an alcove near the entryway. “You’ll find it there.”

“This isn’t a trap, is it?” Alfo said, suspicious.

“…we’ve just made a deal,” the shaman said, staring. “No. It isn’t.”

The chest contained Alfo’s armor, and his weapons, and everything in his bags.

“Do you have the key?” he said, and held up his manacled wrists.

“I’ll handle it,” Val said, holding up the dagger, and before anyone could complain he leaned forward and jammed the tip into the lock. Everyone waited for a moment while he fiddled with it. “Tough one,” he muttered, and then the lock sprang open, and the iron cuffs fell away.

“Unbelievable,” Pat muttered. Alfo donned his armor and collected his belongings while Pat asked about the war chieftain. Val, grinning, sat back and fiddled with the dagger.

 _We will kill this chieftain, and leave, and take the Eye where it needs to go,_ Tam thought, and glanced down at the pouch that contained the Eye. _That is our goal._

“Anything else you can tell us about this chieftain?” Pat asked, as Alfo tugged on a buckle. “Anything that could… I don’t know, help us kill him?”

“The little boar,” the shaman said, nodding. “Priscilla.”

“Priscilla?” Val muttered, shaking his head.

“She is precious to him,” the shaman continued, ignoring Val. “She is his strength.”

“We should eat her and take her power,” Tam said aloud.

Everyone went silent and stared at him. He looked into the fire and leaned on his staff.

“I think that would be… unwise?” the shaman tried, mildly worried. “She is sacred.”

Tam only shrugged.

“The little boar in the pen with the big one?”

“Yes. The other is her protector.”

“Dire boar,” Val called, from near the wall. “They can… explode, or something, I think. Very dangerous.”

The shaman nodded.

“We’ll do our best not to piss that off, then,” Pat sighed, shaking his head.

The Night Guard left the shaman’s chambers and headed up-slope to where the chasm narrowed and vanished into the stone. They walked around it, then back down, to where the shaman had told them the war chieftain made his home. A few times they had to press themselves into the walls or duck back into shadowy alcoves to avoid notice as parties of orcs went trooping past, but for the most part they made it without incident.

“I don’t like this,” Val muttered, glancing around. “I have nothing to fight with!”

“We’ll be fine,” Alfo said, with a shrug. “We’ll fight him.”

“And I’ll do what, exactly?”

“Get your stuff. You _have_ a sword.”

“In _his chambers!”_

They entered, skirting around a rune engraved in the floor – a trap for the unwary. The room was lit by a few torches on the walls and was spacious, something they hadn’t yet seen in the caverns.

It also contained the war chieftain, who was only a little surprised to see them there. He tried to speak, but Alfo charged him with a shout and the battle was on.

Val retreated to the sides of the room, clambering onto the chieftain’s bed to escape danger. It distracted the chieftain at the very least, but he seemed to be able to teleport around the room, and each of Alfo’s blows – as powerful as they were – seemed to be healing as Tam watched.

 _The boar_ , he thought.

“Tam, kill the boar!” Val shouted. “Kill her!”

The chieftain looked up, startled. “No!” he yelled, and Tam’s form disintegrated into a flock of ravens and whirled out of the room.

He saw more orcs as they noticed where he was, pouring out of the tunnel in a cawing cloud, and ignored them as he darted across the chasm and into the room with the pen and Priscilla. He heard the orcs shouting and heading for him, but he ignored them, coalescing back into a human shape and gripping his staff. He stumbled as he landed, but slammed the end of the staff on the floor to keep himself standing and felt its hum resonate in his bones.

 _THIS is how you use the staff,_ he thought intently, and from the tip of it poured a swarm of locusts. They filled the air, the flap of their wings the only sound in the room, and descended upon Priscilla. In seconds, she was nothing but a pile of bones.

Across the chasm there was a drawn-out scream. Tam hastened back, running alongside the pit to reach the rest of the Night Guard. He heard the clash of weapons on weapons and shouting.

“That pile of ash loves you more than your father ever did!” Val taunted from somewhere inside the room, and there was an agonized bellow that devolved into pained sobs before quieting.

When Tam walked in, everything was still. Val was pressed against the wall, still on the bed, but he was staring at the lifeless corpse of the war chieftain’s son, the Orog. The chieftain was nowhere to be seen, but there was a heap of silvery ashes on the floor near the doorway.

“Good kill,” Alfo said, nodding his head.

“He… cried to death?” Pat muttered, trying to make sense of it.

“Idiot!” Val hissed, at the Orog, as a final insult. He jumped down off the bed and began to rifle through the chieftain’s belongings, searching for his armor and weapons. “Don’t touch my _fucking_ violin!”


	7. Sindaleth

The orcs that had been charging in were stopped by the shaman, who stepped into the cavern and looked over the bodies of the Orog and the ash that had been Chieftain Duirash.

“Well done,” he said, nodding to them. “Take your belongings and come with me; I will show you our treasures, and you may take from them what you’ve earned.”

He showed the Night Guard to another cavern, one further up that they’d missed before, and led them in. It was filled with crates and loose coin that spilled across the stone.

“If you find something you are particularly fond of,” he said, smiling faintly, “you may be able to trade for it.”

“Hey!” Val called, holding up a copper-colored mask, just made for the upper face and with dark lenses across the eye-holes. “Does this count as part of what we’re allowed to have?”

The shaman glanced over. “Oh, that?” he said, and snorted. “We don’t need it. Yes, but that’s all you may take. You, specifically.”

“Fine by me,” Val said, and settled the mask over his head. He flipped it down, then up again, smiling.

Tam glanced around the room as Val and Alfo began to sort through what was there. There was a heap of deep crimson cloth lying in one corner; he stepped over and poked it with the staff. On the exterior, a single sky-blue eye opened and rolled to the side to look at him. After a few seconds, more eyes began to open; deep green, faint crimson, monochrome black. Tam stared right back at it.

“This could be yours,” the shaman rumbled, moving to Tam’s side. “For a price.”

The shaman stepped up, whispering into Tam's ear. The words burned at his skin, tore at his soul.

_It is too high._ Tam shook his head. “No,” he said, and turned away.

Val, poking through everything, suddenly and audibly gasped. Tam watched him full-on wade through a heap of coins to dig his hands into the shining piles and pull something out – a small, silvery harp, the wood gleaming in the torchlight and the strings almost seeming to resonate even at rest. He experimentally ran his fingers across them, and the notes that rang out drew everyone’s attention for a moment.

“What can I trade for this?” he said, looking up.

The shaman raised an eyebrow. “What will you give me for it?”

Val hurried over, searching through his pockets. He pulled out the silvery pouch he’d found in the Grand Melee. “How about this?” he said, holding it up. “Works one time, but you’ll be invisible.”

The shaman’s eyes glittered. “A fine trade,” he murmured, and gently took the pouch from Val’s outstretched palm. “It will do.”

Val grinned and cradled the harp, gently plucking the strings. It seemed to be a little out of tune; he adjusted the silvery knobs on the sides, humming to himself as he did so.

Pat stepped back. “I want to leave,” he muttered, when Tam glanced over to him. He seemed completely uninterested in any of the treasure strewn about.

Alfo was sorting through the mess. He picked up a large black collar, leather, with another one tied to it with a heavy piece of twine.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Ah,” the shaman said, leaving Tam to step over a heap of coins to Alfo, “if you wear one, and your wolf wears the other, you can choose to switch places with her. Not often, but it can be done.”

“I want it,” Alfo said.

“There is a price,” the shaman warned.

“Okay.”

“A favor.” The shaman smiled, serene, and held out a hand. “For something later on.”

Alfo paused for a moment, thinking. Pat shook his head, eyes wide. “Don’t do it,” he hissed. “Don’t!”

“I’ll do it,” Alfo said, and shook the shaman’s hand. The shaman broke into a wide smile. When he took his hand away, there was a deep purple-black mark emblazoned on Alfo’s palm.

“Oh, that doesn’t look good,” Val muttered, and checked his own hands. They were clear.

Alfo turned and untied the collars from one another, fastening one around Shadow’s shaggy throat. She stood patiently until he was done, then shook her coat, settling it into place. He clasped the second around his own throat.

“…very weird,” Val muttered.

The way out of the caverns was a series of twisting tunnels that wound upwards through the stone. Tam could smell the changes in the air; the stagnant dust became fresher wind, carrying the scent of soil and rain.

It was daytime when they finally left, through a pair of massive wooden gates operated by two ogres. The orcs watched them go in an uneasy half-silence; they had, after all, just killed their leader.

“Why do I get the feeling,” Pat muttered, as they hurried down a shale-screen mountain path towards the forest to the north, “that that isn’t going to be the last time we see them?”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Val replied, rolling his eyes. He plucked a few notes on his harp. “I very much doubt we’ll have to deal with these people again.”

“Alfo’s got a brand!”

“…well, that’s fair enough,” Val said.

Sindaleth was a few more days’ travel, but those days were uneventful. Pat took care to set up alarms every night around the camp, and Shadow prowled the woods in the dark, watching for danger. They reached Sindaleth without incident.

Tam had been here, once or twice, during his training as a druid. He saw through his ravens’ eyes as they neared the city.

_Yes,_ whispered the Eye, from inside his pouch, when he was human.

Sindaleth grew from the forest, as its buildings did, trees coaxed from the rich earth into towering spires and intricately woven walls. The center archway was a tunnel of branches; the buildings beyond were deep brown wood and bark, and flocks of birds darted through the sky overhead. Golden spires of wood and glass speared upwards from the city’s center, a palace for the king of the city and the Assembly. From the palace spread wide boulevards of stone and soil, gently pressed into the earth; not carved, not gouged, but grown. Mutually, in accordance with the world, not against it as humans were so wont to do. The Gladrathi did not fight the wilderness.

Tam took a breath. The air smelled of growing things, and the faint scent of decay, as it should. He looked up. Above everything, its canopy scraping the bellies of the lower clouds, was a tree.

The Home Tree. Its roots dug through the entire world, its branches upheld the sky. Its power anchored the land to reality. It was not a tree, but a god, the last true god that lived in Mythweald.

“That’s the biggest tree I’ve ever seen,” Val said.

“Your grasp of the obvious is inspiring,” Pat muttered.

The road leading into the city didn’t seem guarded, but Tam knew there were watchers in the trees keeping an eye on them as they passed beneath the vaulted branches.

It was as if the inhabitants had been invisible prior to their entry. As soon as they stepped onto the main road, Tam spotted Gladrathi everywhere, slipping between the buildings, strolling along the boulevard, speaking to each other. He heard a low murmur of countless voices echoing through the streets, dampened by the twisting trees that dominated the city’s structure.

The Eye had to go to the Wildwood Assembly, the council of druids and rangers that ruled Sindaleth under the king. But in order to get the Eye _to_ the Assembly, they had to have an _audience_ first, and that meant they had to wait.

Tam was content to simply exist as near to the Home Tree as he could get. The other members of the Guard, however, were not as easily contented.

Tam managed to avoid most of the outings, but he did go with Alfo when the dwarf set his heart on fighting Shadow in Sindaleth’s Wildring, the fighting arena where companions like Shadow trained to become stronger, more able protectors of Sindaleth’s rangers.

“These are trained woods-beasts,” Tam said, when they stood before the Wildring gates, waiting for Shadow’s entry to be processed. “They are very skilled.”

“So’s Shadow,” Alfo replied, ruffling the wolf’s fur. She licked her nose once and whined, eager to get on with it.

Once in the ring, she did startlingly well, beating out two panthers and a brown bear. The fights were to first blood, but Shadow was faster and craftier than the other beasts, guided by Alfo’s watchful eye and – possibly – his fate, and she was always the first one with blood on her teeth.

Alfo left the Wildring that day with a new collar hung around Shadow’s neck, embossed leather and gold – the first place prize. Tam had to admit he was impressed.

The other outing he was _forced_ to attend was Val’s; his cousin, incorrigible as always, had managed to uncover Sindaleth’s theater, and had delightedly entered himself into one of their many musical tournaments. Tam let himself be dragged into the audience to watch the other musicians try their hand at various instruments.

Val was one of the last entrants, and he made a show of it. He didn’t even walk onto the stage – no, he appeared, in a puff of golden smoke that dispersed in a glittering haze around him, and bowed to the audience – and the judges – before insolently sitting and retuning his harp, as if he had all the time in the world.

It really was remarkable, Tam thought, how Val could just capture the attention of an entire theater. Almost magical. Probably magical.

He finished tuning the harp, plucked a few notes, and began to pluck out a tune Tam recognized – it was an old sea ballad, from north of Pabshaw up the coast.

Val’s voice was clear and strong, his range startlingly large; he sang through all twelve verses of the ballad, with the refrains, without stopping, or ever missing a note or breaking tone. When he was done, he left off with a string of lonesome notes that hung in the air for far longer than they should have.

It was a sad song, a beautiful one, and everyone was silent. The first person go clap was a young bard in the front, standing, and after he began the rest of the audience followed. Val stood, swept a dramatic bow, and strode off the stage, his cloak billowing behind him.

The rest of the entries paled in comparison, and got ratings that matched, except for one exceptionally well-dressed man with a wavering tone who scored nearly as well as Val had. He won second – Val took the contest.

“That other one,” Val muttered, as they headed away from the theater back to the Guard’s temporary lodgings. “Nearly beat me out, and he was half a step off the mark with his notes more often than not!”

“Who is he?” Alfo said, one hand on Shadow’s shoulders.

Val sniffed. “They call him ‘Haveron the Heartbreaker.’ Haveron the Half-wit, more like! The man only knows one end of a lyre from the other because someone put it in his hands and wouldn’t let him put it down. Even that little bard – oh, what was his name? Airic, or something? I gave him my old harp ‘cause he said he was a fan – could do better than him. A lot better, in fact.”

He spent the next week performing at the theater, and returning every night with a ridiculous quantity of money. It seemed that Sindaleth, for all its beauty, was bereft of musical talent, and was lavishing luxury upon their visiting star.

Tam stayed away, preferring the meadow surrounding the Home Tree. The insects there, midsummer cicadas and crickets, didn’t mind his presence, and he was shaded from the hot sun overhead. It was like being in a dream, sitting there at the base of the Tree, simply thinking.

One day his reverie was interrupted by a soft voice. “Excuse me,” it said, and Tam opened and focused his eyes to see a young, half-elven figure in front of him, kneeling in the yellowing grass. Tam raised an eyebrow, and the figure dipped their head, nervous. “Um,” they said, “are you – are you Tamerlane? Redwyne?”

That was, in fact, the name he had chosen for himself. “Yes,” he said cautiously.

“I’m – I’m one of Orvyn’s students. Um, you know him.”

Tam’s former mentor, a druid whom he greatly respected. “Yes.”

“He told us about you. His current students, I mean. He talks about you sometimes.” The half-elf paused. “He says I’m like you.”

Tam looked the figure over. Their voice was too low for their size, a little rough, but their long hair – braided multiple times and falling down their back – was glossy and well cared-for, a deep chestnut color. Their face was finely boned, like any elf’s, and their figure was slight, and androgynous. Additionally, their cloak was rough and stained, and he could see a rat nestled up against their neck and a centipede settled comfortably in a braid above one ear.

_In more ways than one,_ Tam thought, with a faint smile. “Yes,” he said. “You are.”

“I… well, I didn’t know you _could_ do things like you do. By you I mean anybody. Um, I mean me. I didn’t know it was possible to be, um, to – to work with, uh, with the little things, the rats and spiders and such, and – Orvyn told me you were the first to do it. Of his students, anyway. That inspired me.” The half-elf broke off, then pulled something from their pocket and held it out, swallowing. “I – I heard you were around, and I made this. I thought – maybe you’d like it?”

Tam extended one hand, reaching over the staff balanced across his knees, and the half-elf dropped an object into it.

It was a smooth piece of matte black river stone, small enough to fit in his palm and strung on a sturdy piece of twine. The stone had been carved into the shape of a curled scorpion, tail wrapped around its legs, claws open. “Oh!” Tam said, completely taken by surprise; the stone was cool against his skin, and hummed with magic. Nothing special – just the magic of existing, of being. “Oh…”

“Do – do you like it? Do you want it? You don’t have to, I was just, just messing around, and I thought, maybe…” The half elf swallowed, dipping their head. “Oh, I feel very silly.”

“It’s beautiful,” Tam said, tracing the carved lines with one finger. He lifted it. “You made this… for me?”

“I just wanted to say thank you,” the half-elf said. Their hands were balled into nervous fists, pressed against their knees. “For – for, um, for just… existing, I suppose. For showing me I could exist.”

Tam slipped the string over his head, settling the scorpion against his chest. “It is perfect,” he said, and then, “Did you come to speak with the Home Tree?”

“The –“ the half-elf looked up, eyes wide. “Oh, no, it doesn’t speak to _me._ ”

“I doubt that.” Tam moved to the side, leaving a free space between the roots where he was sitting; instead, he leaned back against one of them, tipping his head up to look through the sparkling canopy. “It speaks. You just have to listen.”

The half-elf, nervous and fidgety, crept into the space Tam had left for them and settled down into a little bundle of cloth. The crickets around them crept closer and jumped onto their shoulders and arms; they didn’t seem to mind, staying silent. Tam smiled.

He did not see the half-elf again.

It was only the next night, halfway through the week, when Val came storming into the room and shut the door harder than necessary.

“Sorry,” he apologized immediately when Tam flinched, “but – Tam, something’s going on. With Alfo. With that mark on his hand.”

“Hm?”

“We met one of his relatives today,” Val said, in a tone of mock delight. “What fun! How wonderful. It was fine. I think his name was Friple Dogmeat. I have no idea who named him. Ah, it doesn’t matter. He shook hands with Alfo earlier, and _he_ didn’t notice, but _I_ did. That damn mark, Tam – it spread. To Friple’s hand. It _spread._ It’s still on Alfo’s – don’t touch him, don’t let him touch you.”

What a fascinating and horrifying development. Tam pondered this for the next few days, and began to hear whispers in the city – something strange was happening. Something unnatural. Something terrifying. Alfo began to wear cloth wraps around his hands, to hide the mark carved into his skin.

They were granted their audience at the end of the week’s rest, and were shown into the Wildwood Assembly’s chamber after half a morning spent pacing (in Val’s case) and sitting (in everyone else’s case) in the antechamber.

“Well met,” Val said, as they entered.

The Assembly was several tiers of seated elves in a semicircle, all looking down upon a central stage, where the Guard now stood.

“Well met,” the Assembly speaker called out to them, in Common. “Please, state your name and business.”

“We are the Night Guard, of the Heroes’ Guild,” Val said. “I am Valerian Redwyne; this is my cousin, Tamerlane Redwyne, and our fellow Heroes, Pateirn Sinnodel and Alfo Nightmantle.”

“So he _does_ know my full name,” Pat breathed. “Rat bastard.”

“We come with an object that was given to us by a Gladrathi in Elder Vale, to be brought here. It seems to be sentient, and its desire was to come here as well; and so, we have brought it.”

The Assembly speaker nodded, and opened their mouth to speak, but they were interrupted.

“You have come at an interesting time,” called a new voice, and a shadow swept up behind the speaker’s chair. They went wide eyed and stood, hurrying away from the seat; a new elf sat down, and this one was tall and beautiful, brilliant sharp green eyes and pale, almost translucent white hair that fell over his shoulders and the armor he was wearing. He was wearing armor – embossed with golden leaves and designs, and across his chest a motif of a strung bow – and encircling his temples was a crown, coppery gold, resembling woven branches.

Hanging around his neck was a medallion – a coiled silver dragon, in perfect detail. It was the exact shape of the one Tam was wearing, and the one that all of the Night Guard members were wearing. The emblem of the Heroes’ Guild.

This was Elidyr Ashebow, Hero of Mythweald, one of the very first four – and the king of the Gladrathi.

Tam bowed his head; Val noticed and did the same, eyes wide.

“Thank you. There’s no need for that,” the king said, shaking his head gently. “I intend to hurry your meeting along; we have much to discuss aside from what you have brought.”

“I don’t quite think that you’ll be able to dismiss this as easily as you’d like,” Val said, and from his cloak produced the maple box that held the Eye. “In fact, I don’t think you’ll want to dismiss this at all. We bring with us the Eye of the Sunwatchers.”

With that, he opened the box, and the room was struck silent by the flare of brilliant fiery light from within the box, and the course of whispers that rippled through the air.

“Ah,” Elidyr said, after a moment. “You’re right; that does change things.”

“It wanted to come here. It called Sindaleth home. We’ve brought it to you, to do what you will with; who can we turn it over to?”

Elidyr paused. “No one,” he said. “The Eye belongs in Ashewood Redoubt, in the Ashewood, nearer to Elder Vale than to Sindaleth. Who told you to bring it here?”

“An elf by the name of…” Val trailed off. “Tam, what was his name?”

“Trepanier de Sylvain,” Tam supplied.

Elidyr frowned. “I’ve not heard such a name before,” he murmured, pressing his fingertips together. “We will have to find him. The Eye’s disappearance was cause for much alarm, and has caused a major destabilization in the functionality of magic across the world. It must be returned, and swiftly.”

“Wait,” Val said, “we have to go _back to Elder Vale?”_

“It would seem so,” Pat said, with a sigh.

“We were literally just there – we could have just…” Val sighed. “Why didn’t Trepanier just tell us to – why? Did he do this in the first place?”

Elidyr ignored Val’s mutterings. “I would have a company of my rangers take it,” he said, “but they are unfortunately occupied, for several reasons. Some of my rangers have vanished during their own mission searching for the Eye, and the rest are busy scouting the invasion.”

There was a _dead_ silence.

“…the invasion?” Val finally squeaked.

“There is at this moment an army of orcs marching on Sindaleth,” Elidyr said, nodding. “They are coming… for what reason, I cannot say. But their intention is nothing but evil; they burn the forest they pass through, leaving it black and dead in their wake.”

Well, that was an interesting twist. “That’s quite bad indeed,” Val said, after a moment. “So the rangers cannot take it?”

“No.” Elidyr looked at them carefully, viewing them. “And a strange magic is spreading through my people as well – as we speak, there are strange marks appearing on the bodies of elves. Runes, dark and eldritch, and I cannot tell what they say.” He passed one hand over his own hand, and an illusion fell away, revealing a deep purple and black rune softly glowing on his palm. “Runes like these.”

_Oh, no._

“That’s _also_ very bad,” Val said. “Is – uh, should we fix something, or just run?”

“You are Heroes,” Elidyr said softly, folding his hands together again. The glow of the rune still shimmered on his wrist. “I would ask if I could impose upon those in the guild I founded.”

“Of course,” Val replied, ever the speaker for the group. “I – we – anything.”

“Will you take the Eye back to the Ashewood? Will you bear it with you safely and return it to its resting place?”

Val opened his mouth, and shut it again. “What about the orcs, and the city?”

“Sindaleth will handle itself.”

Val turned, looking at the Guard.

Alfo nodded. “I feel uncomfortable here,” he said. “I want to leave.”

“It will help every city, not just Sindaleth, if we do this,” Pat said.

Tam just nodded. _The Eye must be returned. It is fate._

“We will,” Val said, turning back to Elidyr. “We will.”

“Good.” The king laid his hands on the wooden table in front of himself. “The overland route is not safe; the orcs have spread through the Ei’dath woods, and we _cannot_ let them have the Eye. There is a safer route, a secret one, built long ago, underground. It winds through the Underdark, and while it is dangerous, it is also unknown. You will take that one, and you will take the Eye back to the exit of the route in Emberhearth. From there, you must travel back to Elder Vale, to the Ashewood, and replace the Eye in Ashewood Redoubt.” The king fixed them all with that brilliant green gaze. “Do this, and you will have truly earned your status as Heroes. The Eye holds the key to magic in this world; you hold the key.”

“We will complete the task you have set for us,” Val replied, slipping into a lilting chant of words; ancient words, from stories, from epics, from poems, from history. “We are servants to the world, and to those that rule it; we are protectors of the world, and those who live in it. For our good and the good of all, we will do this.”

Elidyr nodded, a faint smile on his face. “Good,” he said. “Now go. Hurry. The orcs have already gotten far closer to Sindaleth than we would like. If they are like to find the chamber leading downwards into the Underdark, and pursue you, we will collapse it behind you. Once you descend, there is no going back until you reach Emberhearth.”

“We understand.”

“Then go. And may the gods of this world – any who listen – be with you.”

The Guard was assigned a guide, a young elven woman who looked rather stressed, and packed their bags as quickly as they could.

“You know,” Val muttered, at the inn where they had been staying as he repacked his bag, “I’d thought that Sindaleth would be the end of the Eye for us. But no, it isn’t. Of course it isn’t. Things are always more complicated than I’d like them to be.”

“Usually that’s because of you,” Tam said dryly.

“It isn’t this time!”

The young elven woman led them through the city, all the way to the northern edge – and there, they found an older building, and inside it a chamber that held only a square platform suspended in the middle of the room from chains that ran into the ceiling.

“Step on,” she said, “and we’ll lower you down.”

The Night Guard boarded this elevator, and once they were situated with a lantern in the enter, the elven woman gave a hand signal and the chains began to creak and lower them down, into the earth.

Into the darkness.


	8. Into the Underdark

As the light faded, Tam let out a breath. Sindaleth was a place filled with magic, and with people who did not treat it as the humans would, or the dwarves, or even the ice elves. But as fantastic as Sindaleth was, it still wasn’t a perfect place; it wasn’t what Tam loved most.

The gathering gloom was broken only by the single lantern that sat in the center of the descending platform. Tam watched the walls go from dirt to carved stone to stone that had been melted into this shape decades, perhaps centuries ago. Tam felt as if he were descending through time into a deeper place, a quieter place, and he felt at peace.

Val nervously tuned and re-tuned his harp, voice thin and wavering in the darkness. He faltered under the sound of the elevator grating downwards and sat near the lantern, silent.

Pat was reading a book by lanternlight. He didn’t appear to be too bothered by the descent… or perhaps he was hiding it.

Every now and then Shadow would whine, licking her muzzle and glancing around at the walls. Alfo reached over to stroke the fur between her ears and she laid her head on her paws, uneasy.

The silence was unbroken for hours as the platform slowly rolled downwards, sometimes catching on pieces of stone that stuck out too far and scraping along the side of the chamber before it widened enough for them to pass easily again. Tam contented himself with running through rituals in his mind, whispering the words internally to himself, and with examining his creatures. They seemed alright – the bugs and rats didn’t mind being down here in the dark.

When the platform finally jolted to a halt, it startled everyone. Val was the first to scramble up, staring out at the cavern beyond. He flicked the goggles he was wearing down and peered into the shadows.

“I can’t see anything,” he said aloud.

There was a shuffling movement in the dark. Val took a sharp breath and coughed on dust, and narrowed his eyes to see into the darkness and spotted a shambling form entering the ring of the lantern’s light. No – two. No, three….

They were zombies, that much was clear. Shadow leaped forwards, snarling, and Alfo followed her, axe already out. Val danced backwards and stayed out of reach, rapier in one hand just in case something got too close, but it wasn’t hard to eliminate them.

“You didn’t see anything, huh?” Pat muttered, glaring at Val as the last zombie fell.

“And then I did,” Val snapped back, expression hidden behind the bronze half-mask. “Don’t make that my fault. I didn’t put them there.”

Pat stood with a sigh and grabbed his bag before stepping off the platform to the stone floor. Tam hooked the end of his staff onto the ring atop the lantern and carried it with him as Alfo and Shadow left the platform behind. Once Tam stepped off, it shuddered, then began to ascend back up the shaft.

There was no going back that way.

The room was wide, with a few passageways leading in different directions off through the stone. Boxes and crates could be seen lying around; Val immediately hurried over to one and pried the lid off. “Nothing inside,” he called back, disappointed.

Pat looked curiously at the crates, poking through one of them. “That’s odd,” he said, stepping back. “It’s mining supplies.”

“This isn’t a mine,” Alfo said, glancing around.

“I know.”

“Sorry, what?” Val came up with the head of a pickaxe, frowned at it, and tossed it aside. He winced as it clattered on the ground. “Oh! Sorry! Didn’t mean to do that.”

“Alright, and what did you think was going to happen?” Pat hissed, glancing over at the other tunnels.

“I didn’t!”

“That much is obvious.”

Tam stepped away, looking down the tunnels. His rats swarmed around his feet.

_Some of these hold danger. One of these is the way._

There were no more zombies, but Tam could smell the dusty but still-present stink of old death from down most of the passageways. One of them led to an old, locked door.

“Oh, I can handle that,” Val said confidently, and stepped up. He spent a few minutes fidgeting with the lock and a couple of fine wire tools before it clicked open.

“I could’ve just broken it down,” Alfo said, with a shrug.

“Yeah, but then you can’t close it again.”

“Why would we want to close it again?”

“I dunno, it just seemed like it might be a useful thing to be able to do.” Val stepped in, scanning every surface. “It looks alright in here, too. Safe. Oh, there’s a skeleton! Not a live one.”

It clattered.

“Never mind, it’s a live one.”

The skeletons were much harder to destroy than the zombies, and Tam and his swarm couldn’t eat these ones. They were covered in armor and stones, and it took a lot for the Night Guard to shatter them and scatter the pieces across the floor.

They managed it, but only barely. After that they were more cautious.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be the first one to walk into rooms,” Alfo said, watching Val carefully dab blood away from a long, shallow gash that ran down one arm.

“Yeah, maybe, but who else is gonna pick the locks? You?”

“You could pick the lock and then move.”

“Yeah, but I’m also the sneakiest.”

“Alright, die then,” Alfo muttered.

Val paused. “Wait, that’s not what I was – Hey!”

Alfo had already moved on. Val glowered at him and sauntered over to the other side of the room to poke through a pile of odds and ends, mostly tattered cloth. Pat paused by an ancient wooden bench and looked over the contents. “It’s an alchemy lab,” he murmured to himself, leaning closer. “Some of these ingredients could still be viable, depending on how old they are.”

Tam found himself slightly interested in the alchemy. “Is there poison?” he asked.

“No, doesn’t look like it. None made, anyways.”

“Oh.”

“..why?”

“Curious.”

Pat turned back to the table, shaking his head. He brushed some dust off a few jars. “Peculiar,” he murmured, turning one over in his hands.

“I found some garbage and, and a necklace, and a book,” Val called.

“That’s nice,” Pat replied automatically.

“It’s written in Elvish. It’s got diagrams.”

Pat nearly dropped the vial as he whipped his head around. “It’s what?”

Val was holding up an ancient-looking book, edges yellowed by age but otherwise seeming to be undamaged. The cover was deep blue leather, surprisingly clean amidst the darkness and the dust. Tam swung the lantern forwards to look at it.

“Give me that,” Pat said, and hurried over to take the book from Val. He paged through it, muttering to himself as he skimmed over the paragraphs of elegant Elvish scripting. “This is a spellbook,” he said, eyes wide. “It’s a spellbook belonging to someone who did an awful lot of necromancy.”

“That would be me,” someone sighed, from the other side of the room.

Everyone whipped around. Alfo pulled his axe out in a second and was ready to throw it; Val was backing up, eyes wide. Hovering a few inches off the floor near the far wall was a pale blue-white form, misty and wraithlike, quite resembling a Gladrathi elf in long robes. He looked rather downcast.

Pat glanced over at Val, who shrugged helplessly and shook his head.

“You’re the first people to come down here in quite a while,” he said, looking them over. “Who, ah… who are you?”

“We’re the Night Guard,” Val said, staring. “Who are you?”

The ghost glanced around again and coughed lightly. “My name is Mitch,” he said. “Mitch Barlow. I’m a necromancer who – “

“Hold on, you’re an elf. And a necromancer. And your name is Mitch?”

“Um… yes.”

Val threw his hands in the air. “Couldn’t you have picked something a little more dramatic? You’re a necromancer! Call yourself…. oh, I dunno, something with panache. Something with a little more of a flourish to it.”

“…no,” Mitch said after a moment, confused.

Val dropped his hands. “Well, I tried,” he muttered.

“Listen,” Mitch said, “I – there’s something important that I need you to get. I would really like to leave the Underdark, but I can’t get out without the amulet I’m tied to.”

“An amulet,” Pat said flatly, folding his arms. “Oh, no, this can’t go wrong at all.”

Mitch wrung his hands. “I know this sounds suspicious, but please, I’m not evil. I just want to find someplace to go that isn’t here. I’ve been down here for a few hundred years.”

“Where’s your amulet?” Alfo said, shortly.

“Behind that door.” Mitch pointed. To the rear of the room was a steel-gray door, set into the wall and with faint blue runes etched into it. “It won’t open for you. My apprentice has the key.”

“You have an apprentice?” Pat narrowed his eyes. “More ghosts?”

“Ah… no. My apprentice, Samuel… I’m not sure what became of him. He killed me, you see.”

“…why?”

“Out of a desire to use my work as his own. He was not interested in taking a backseat role in my operations. To clarify, I was just using undead as mining workers to expand the tunnel, since they don’t need to sleep or eat.”

“Why would he – never mind,” Pat muttered, shaking his head. “How do we know he hasn’t left?”

“I can feel his presence. It’s nearby.”

“Cool. Very vague.” Val folded his arms. “And if we don’t do it? What are you gonna do?”

“…nothing, I guess,” Mitch said, looking down. “I’ll wait for the next group.”

Val looked over at Pat, who took a breath, closed his eyes, and sighed.

“Fine,” he said. “We’ll get your amulet.”

They found Samuel in one of the unexplored tunnels, along with several desiccated corpses. Nothing moved in here. Alfo poked one corpse after another with the hilt of his axe, heading the party off. The tunnel itself dead-ended into rough half-mined stone; Alfo ran his hand over it, and Tam touched it to try and sense if there were any openings behind it. Val, uninterested in the stone, stayed a little bit back from the group.

“I wonder what they were doing down here?” Pat said, staring at the wall.

“Mining,” Alfo said.

Pat sighed. “I _know_ that. I mean… for what? For resources? To get somewhere?”

“Nothing beyond this wall,” Tam said, dropping his hand.

“Who knows,” Alfo said. “You could ask the ghost.”

“I might,” Pat murmured, nodding.”

“Well,” said Val from behind them all, “he’s not here. May as well keep – hhhggkk!”

Everyone turned around at once. Val was standing still, eyes wide, and holding him by the throat was one of the corpses they’d passed earlier. It was awake and undead. Its fingers were pale gray, the skin dry and flaking, and where it touched Val watery blotches of shadow leaked out onto his skin. He scrabbled at the hand, unable to speak.

A wight, a stronger type of undead than a zombie. Far more dangerous, and smarter. As they watched, it lifted Val off the floor and he choked, batting fruitlessly at its arm.

_He can’t die. He is supposed to live._

Alfo sprang into action and slammed his axe into the wight’s side. It snarled and dropped Val; he collapsed to the ground. The wight turned and drew a longsword, hissing at this new threat.

Tam moved forwards, the rats pouring like a small river towards the wight. From behind him came a bolt of light that shot past and slammed into the wight’s armor; frost formed on it, curling across the archaic metal and leather. Alfo took another swing, and this time Shadow went for the wight as well, biting at its leg. It swung down and jammed the tip of its blade through the shoulder joint in Alfo’s armor.

Val was alive, it seemed, because he saw the wight was distracted and rolled away from it a few feet before crawling towards the side of the tunnel. He was gasping for air and shaking. Tam moved between him and the wight, planting his staff in the ground.

Pat whipped one hand around in a circle, fire trailing from his fingertips. “Pat,” Val croaked, trying to pull himself up with the wall, “burn his – hold on.” He grabbed his harp and, in the middle of the battle, began to pick a tune. “Burn his fucking flesh off,” he sang, voice hoarse from the damage that had been done to his throat.

Pat actually laughed, a short, sharp bark, before launching his flames into the wight. The air around his magic warped and twisted, wreathing like a heat wave around him. Fire boiled over the wight’s armor and form, scorching the skin black and incinerating the flesh in some spots, leaving only charred bone behind. The wight managed to withstand that hit, but it did not withstand Shadow jumping on it seconds later, knocking it to the ground. Alfo slammed his axe into its midsection while Shadow ripped at the thing’s face. Tam’s rats poured over it, gnawing at the dry flesh and ripping the leather apart.

It did not last very long. Val slumped against the wall, still taking harsh, ragged breaths. “Holy shit,” he gasped, and coughed. “That – I do not want to tangle with that again.”

He was still shaking, still pale. When Tam helped him up, his skin was cold to the touch, clammy – but not lifeless. He shook himself and cleared his throat. “This goddamn amulet had better be worth it.”

The key was on Samuel’s body, and when they returned to the main chamber and opened the steel door, within the room they found several interesting artifacts and the amulet – a beaded string of turquoise and jet with an unfamiliar geometric shape carved into the circular pendant. When they did, Mitch reappeared to them.

“That’s it! That’s my amulet,” he told them, hovering next to Val (who was holding the amulet). “If someone takes that out of the Underdark, I can finally leave. Or even just takes it to another part of the Underdark, I can go be there instead. It’s awfully boring being on one place, unable to move, for hundreds of years.”

“You want us to cart this out with us?” Val sighed. “Is it magical?”

“Yes, but… if you use it, bad things may happen.”

“Is it cursed?”

“No! They’d just be bad for me. It can summon servants for you, undead ones.” Mitch paused, nervous. “It might also turn me into one, and I really don’t want to know what that would do.”

Val sighed, running one finger over the design. “You want us to carry you out of the Underdark, and just – that’s it?”

“I won’t be able to do too much, but I can watch out when you’re resting, and wake you in case of danger,” Mitch said. “I’ll do my best to help you. I just… really want to leave.”

Val glanced over at Pat, who rolled his eyes and shrugged. “Fine.”

Mitch’s glow visibly brightened. “I – oh, thank you. Thank you! I appreciate it.”

“One more thing – you could have warned us that your wretched little apprentice was a wight! I nearly died for this amulet,” Val snapped, as he slipped the amulet’s string over his head and settled it on his chest He sounded annoyed, but under the annoyance Tam could hear a very real fear.

“I’m very sorry about that,” Mitch replied. “I – I didn’t know what had become of him.”

Val wilted. “Yeah, well… don’t do it again, I suppose.”


	9. Mist and Shade

They spent days journeying through the Underdark. They learned several things during this time.

  1. Some stone absorbed light.
  2. Some stone glowed.
  3. Magic didn’t work the same for Pat and Val, and sometimes had unintended side effects.
  4. The rotting vegetation smelled horrible and was ultimately unimportant to them.
  5. They should not get too close to the fungi, which would shoot out spores that would hurt you.
  6. Magma comes out of the rock sometimes, and can be hazardous to your health.
  7. The Underdark is largely uninhabited except by the occasional group of goblins or, if you are particularly unlucky, drow or duregar.



The latest fact they learned when they stumbled across duregar in a pitch-black cavern filled with darkstone, and nearly fell into a river of lava they couldn’t see. Otherwise the caverns were mainly empty.

Which is why it came as such a surprise when the Night Guard stumbled into a side cavern and found themselves looking at a cheerfully lit campsite, pitched tents staked into the cavern stone and a fire blazing in the middle.

And there were humans, too, sitting around the edges. Tam narrowed his eyes. He did not trust them.

“People,” Val hissed. “Maybe we ought to be careful. They could be hostile.”

“Or they could not,” Alfo said. “They might have real food.”

“I don’t trust them,” Pat muttered.

“You don’t trust anyone,” Val said, frowning. “But I agree. What are they doing down here?”

“Could be travelers.” Alfo placed one hand on Shadow’s head. “If they want to hurt us, they’re welcome to try.”

“Uh, I’d rather not,” Val said nervously. “Here, why don’t we – why don’t we talk to them? Ask them why they’re here?”

“I want someone in hiding in case it goes badly,” Pat countered.

“Alright, fine. I’ll do that. But that means you have to talk.”

For a split second, Tam thought Val was speaking to him. But Pat next to him nodded and cleared his throat and Tam relaxed slightly.

Val nodded. “Right, then. Give me a minute to hide away and then go up and say hello.” With that he pulled the cowl of his cloak up and slipped away into the shadows, moving between the flickers, disappearing into the half-dark.

Pat waited a minute before standing and walking out into the open. “This is a terrible idea,” he said aloud.

_But you’re doing it anyway,_ Tam thought, and shook his head.

“Hello!” Pat called.

Immediately there was movement around the fire, and a few of the humans stood, turning to face them. One strolled over to the edge of the campsite. “Hello,” he called back, cheerfully. “Who are you?”

“Travelers,” Tam whispered.

“Travelers,” Pat echoed, to the stranger. “Just passing through.”

“Hah! So are we,” said the stranger, grinning. “Fancy that! You can stop a while with us if you like. We’ve been down here for a few weeks now.”

The camp was friendly enough. Val melted back out of the darkness with a sheepish grin (“Sorry, sorry! Didn’t know if you’d try to kill us and all that.”) and they waved the Guard in and offered them food – hot stew, with chunks of tough but well-cooked meat in a thick gravy. Tam fed some of it to his rats first, to see if they would die. They did not.

It was meat, unidentifiable for the most part, and Tam was unbothered by it. Shadow devoured some of it happily enough as well.

The travelers had been searching for riches in the Underdark caverns, but had ended up lost down here, in a place where magic didn’t work properly. Their maps were old and useless, and they asked the Guard if there was any way out that they knew of.

“No, sorry,” Val said. “The way we came in is closed off now. War, and all that.”

“War? Goodness, again?” said one of the travelers, and shook their head.

Their information seemed… a little out of date, but Tam couldn’t quite place what was wrong. Every time they started to get confused about something, the topic changed, to something they could jovially chatter about.

Later, the Night Guard sat inside the tent they’d unpacked and pitched, except for Alfo, who was sitting out by the fire talking with the others. Tam played with a large centipede, letting it crawl over and in between his fingers.

Unexpectedly, Alfo put his head through the tent flap. “Hey,” he said, “I’m coming in.”

“…okay?” Val replied, one eyebrow raised. Alfo stepped through and sat down on the floor.

“So, those guys are cannibals,” he said. “I’m way too strong for them to kill so they want me to join their group. There’s a half-carved-up dead guy in the corner of the cavern.”

“Fuck!” Pat hissed, throwing his hands in the air. “We ate people, didn’t we?!”

“Keep your voice down,” Alfo grumbled.

“Whoops,” Val said.

Pat turned and scrabbled through his pack for the chalice they’d found back in Mitch’s camp. It purified water; he dumped half his skein in and gulped as much as he could.

“Trying to drown yourself?” Val asked, while everyone looked on.

“Maybe the purity will – help?” Pat tried, staring miserably down at the chalice. “I can’t believe this.”

“Oh, I should probably do that too,” Val said absentmindedly. “Can I?”

“…why aren’t you panicking.”

“I mean, I said whoops.” Val shrugged. “What am I going to do about it now?”

“We should eat the rest of them as vengeance,” Tam said.

Pat choked and dropped the chalice. “What?!”

Val caught the chalice out of the air, muttering to himself and glancing towards the camp. Pat stared at Tam, unable to speak. Alfo stroked Shadow’s head. “What do we do?” he asked, as Pat put his hands over his mouth silently and stared at the floor.

“Oh, kill them, for sure,” Val said, after taking a sip from the chalice. He handed it back to Pat, who still seemed utterly horrified by the situation. “They lied to us.”

“How?”

“…got any of that darkstone?” Val grinned, tapping his goggles. “We put out the fire, and they’re at a disadvantage. They’re humans. We can all see in the dark – Tam, you can turn into rats and see, so don’t start with that argument. Alfo, they trust you, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Right. So. I think… we somehow get you to distract them, and we sneak out, and throw the rock in the fire and attack?”

“Sure.” Alfo shrugged and made to stand up.

“Wait!” Pat hissed, apparently getting over his internal struggle. “You’ll need to let us know when to strike. Warn us just before you drop it.”

“How?”

“With a code word. Something you wouldn’t ordinarily say, but could come up in conversation.”

“Nutmeg,” Tam said, aloud.

“Nutmeg,” Pat repeated. “Just use – Tam, what?”

Tam looked over to him. “It’s a seasoning.”

Several expressions passed across Pat’s face. He settled on pained apathy and looked back to Alfo. “Nutmeg,” he said flatly.

“Got it,” Alfo said, and jiggled his bag. The clink of stone echoed from inside. He stood and left the tent.

Val immediately swept his cloak around himself and slipped out the back. Pat followed, glancing over to Tam one more time. Tam waited for them to leave, then fell into the shape of his rats and scurried out and away, as quietly as he could.

“That quiet one,” one of the cannibals was saying. “You think he’ll be good first?”

“Yeah. Honestly, the other two are scrawny,” Alfo answered.

“Mm. True. If we wait on the big boy, he’ll get skinny, and then we’ll have wasted that chance.”

“Right. Exactly.” Alfo patted Shadow; she rumbled at his side.

_He’s only half lying. He’s very convincing._

“But,” Alfo said, after a moment, eyes flicking around the people that surrounded him. “Don’t you think it would go better with a little… nutmeg?”

“Aw, fuck,” said one of the cannibals, as the firelight abruptly died.

Tam swarmed forwards as he heard Val and Pat spring into action. There was a sickening squelch as something submitted to Val’s rapier, and a flash of blue-white light as Pat hurled magic across the cavern. There was also a puff of silvery smoke as he teleported, startling the cannibals. From his expression, he hadn’t been expecting it either.

One of the cannibals screamed as Tam’s rats began to chew through his flesh. _How does it feel?_ Tam thought, as a hundred small sets of teeth tore into him. _Being eaten._

Alfo pulled his axe from his belt and began to hack at the cannibals, quite literally slashing them apart. Shadow ripped limbs off, worrying them into a pulp on the ground, and it was mere seconds before they were dead and there was only silence.

Val stepped to the fire and used the tip of his rapier to poke the darkstone out of the flames. The light flared up again, revealing the scene, and he flipped his mask up and sighed.

“Delightful,” he said.

They took over the camp for the night and left it in the morning, after taking care of the corpses. The tunnels kept going, winding deeper into the ancient stone. Pat tested his magic constantly; it wasn’t working correctly. Neither was Val’s. When either of them used magic, the energy of this place warped it, and it had… unintended effects.

They found this out when, out of the blue, they were ambushed by a party of drow and had to flee through the tunnels to a vast chasm that split the earth in half. There was only a small bridge to run across –Val went first, leaping over the swaying, decaying boards as quickly as he could. Pat followed him.

Alfo seemed to be having trouble. He wavered on the bridge, staring down at the blackness, and after a moment turned back, axe out. He faced down the drow. Tam saw the flicker in his eyes – he wasn’t in control right now.

“No! Idiot!” Val yelled, from the far side of the chasm. “Fucking idiot! Get over here!”

That was oddly rude, but Tam felt the magic woven into the words and saw Alfo swing back towards Val and move along the bridge. Oh, so he wanted to attack. How wonderful.

Tam turned and hurled a brilliant globe of light into the air, leaving it hovering just above the exit to the tunnel where the drow were pouring out. _We can fly across the chasm,_ he thought, and let himself dissolve into a whirl of black wings and bright eyes to head out over the darkness.

Wrong. Wrong. The wind roaring up from the depths slammed into him and knocked him out of his form, sending him plummeting into the abyss. “No!” Val shouted, and snapped his fingers, and all of a sudden Tam felt the air around him go sticky and thick and his fall slowed enough for him to grab onto the wall and turn into a spider, sticking to the stone as he skittered upwards.

When he reached the top, Val was gone, and instead there was a fully grown sheep standing terrified on the stone.

“Run,” Pat said, and set the bridge on fire.

There were two tunnels; they fled down the left one, eventually leaving the screeching of the driders far behind. After a few hours the magic wore off and the sheep became a highly embarrassed Val again.

“I hate this,” he decided, gesturing at the world around them as they went. “I didn’t go to college for my magic not to work right!”

“You didn’t graduate,” Tam said.

“That’s not the point!”

Hours. They walked for hours. A few gricks here or there, some caverns of fungi and goblins… this felt wrong.

So did the umberhulk, when it dropped down from the ceiling and tried to eat Tam alive. The party turned on it, Pat backing up and summoning another few bolts of fire.

As he did so, there was a flare of brilliant light and an explosion of silvery mist that billowed over the ground. Something appeared in that light, bright white and larger than any of them, shaped like a horse – but no horse could be this beautiful, shrouded in a glimmering haze, tail so long it nearly dragged along the floor and a spiraling horn longer than Tam’s arm extending from its forehead. The eyes were a clear violet-blue, glittering just like the rest of it, and it charged the umberhulk and gored it with that shining spire.

“Holy fucking shit,” Val said breathlessly, staring at the unicorn.

It turned to them, bowed its head, and spoke. Not out loud – in Tam’s mind, and in everyone’s minds.

“Greetings,” it said, “I am Murdoc Mistymane, Lord of the Unicorns of the Feywild. Who are you, and how did you call me?”

“It was an accident,” Pat said.

Murdoc Mistymane laughed, throwing his head back. His mane flowed like water. “So I see,” he sighed, and stepped forwards, hooves clicking on the dark stone beneath him. “You’re lost, aren’t you?”

“Very.” Pat glanced back at the rest of the Night Guard. Alfo held up his hands – he wasn’t going to play with this. Shadow looked at Murdoc Mistymane and sat down, wagging her tail.

The Lord of the Unicorns dipped his head. “I will guide you back. You have been going the wrong way.”

“Damn it,” Val muttered, as Pat nodded wordlessly and stepped back.

The silvery mist seemed to flow from Mistymane’s presence, collecting in swirls around his legs and disappearing when he was gone. He led them back through the tunnels to the gorge – the drow were gone – and down the other path, through more caverns. At one point, he stood watch for them while they rested, exhausted from hours of running, and was still there when they awoke.

And he was still there when they caught the sounds of battle from up ahead. He flicked his ears forwards, then looked to the party. “Beware,” he said, “violence awaits us.”

“Good,” Alfo muttered, wrapping his fingers around the hilt of his axe.

Mistymane shook his head. “It will be far more dangerous than anything you have faced before.”

“Every day is,” Val quipped.

They made it to the cavern edge and watched a small army of drow battle several exhausted-looking rangers across yet another chasm. With the drow, snarling at the rangers, was a small, slick-scaled black dragon, whipping its tail back and forth and hissing as it occasionally spat a jet of acid towards them.

“This doesn’t look terrible,” Pat said, trying to convince himself.

“Let’s come up from behind,” Val said, grinning. “They’ll never know what hit em!”

Lord Mistymane looked them over. “You are strong enough to do this. I will help you.” He turned to Pat. “You are the one that summoned me with your magic; thus, in this battle, you may accompany me.” With that he knelt on the ground and sat. Pat stared, eyes wide.

“Oh my god,” Val gasped, and pushed him a little. “Pat. Pat. Pat, do it.”

“I – “

“Do it, this is the most incredible thing that’s ever happened,” Val hissed.

Pat gingerly stepped up to Mistymane and, after a second of silent hesitation – and what must have been reassurance from the Lord of the Unicorns – climbed onto his smooth, white back.

Lord Mistymane stood. Pat seemed dazed as the unicorn shook his head again, the strands of his mane rippling like water, and looked towards the battle. “Now we go,” he chimed, and started forwards.

They entered the field in a blaze of light. Tam raised his staff and focused on a chunk of rock hanging from the cavern roof, and it shone like a small sun. The drow collectively shied back from the light.

Lord Mistymane reared and trumpeted, a clear, triumphant sound, and charged forwards. Pat raised a hand frosted in ice and Val darted forwards, grinning, with his rapier out.

The drow were no match for them; there were a few driders, but Lord Mistymane fully knocked one off the edge of the chasm and into the darkness below, and Pat blasted the second one with magic, freezing it solid.

The little dragon turned and fled, heading towards the edge of the ravine. _Not so fast,_ Tam thought, and as he did, a crossbow bolt zipped past and buried itself in the little thing’s shoulder. Shadow raced by and pounced on it when it stumbled, and it screamed as she ripped into its flesh.

There was an answering roar from below, in the chasm. Even Lord Mistymane paused where he was, staring towards the darkness.

“That’s not good,” Alfo muttered.

The sound of wingbeats echoed up from the deeps. Silence reigned other than that; the drow were dead, and everyone else was just… waiting.

Tam held up one hand to his shoulder and felt a small creature scuttle out onto his palm; a scorpion. He carefully held it close to his heart.

There it was again. Like distant thunder; the almost inaudible sound of air crushed beneath sails the size of a building. They simply stood and waited.  There was nothing any of them could do now.

Another beat, and another, and they were growing closer. Lord Mistymane stepped back from the edge, the light that shone from him dimming slightly, and Val and Tam moved back as well. Whatever was about to happen, it wasn’t going to be good.

The rangers across the chasm poked their heads out of the cover they were in. “Hurry!” they hissed, beckoning. “It’ll be here any second!”

Too late. With a final, thunderous beat, a shape emerged from the shadowed depths of the chasm: long and sinuous and covered in black scales, face gaunt and skull-like and adorned with two curling horns that came to wickedly sharp points near its dirty, rotted-looking fangs. The dragon screamed as it rounded the top of the chasm and landed in front of them, deep green eyes searching. Stones crunched beneath its paws, crushed to dust under the weight of it.

“Fuck,” Val said, swallowing hard. “Shit, shit, shit, shit.”

Lord Mistymane lowered his horn and charged.

Tam touched the tip of his staff, one tiny spiral of wood, to the scorpion’s back and flung it away from him. It landed about seven or so feet away and writhed as it suddenly grew, from the small enough to sit in his hand to large enough to hold Val in one claw. It scuttled forwards towards the dragon, tail ready to strike. Lord Mistymane sank his horn into the dragon’s chest and it screamed and swiped at Pat, but missed; he ducked under the jagged claws, taking the opportunity to launch some flames into its armor. They splashed harmlessly off the black scales and dripped to the cavern floor.

Alfo swung his axe into the dragon’s leg; it stumbled, bellowing, and he wrenched it out with a grunt and hacked again. The dragon turned and snapped at him, but he raised his shield just in time and the yellowing fangs caught the polished wood instead of his arm, clanking against it. He pushed its face away, staring it down fearlessly. Pat took the opportunity to slam a bolt of ice into its jaw from below, as Lord Mistymane reared and battered its shoulder with his hooves.

Tam raised his staff again and concentrated. A beam of silvery light poured down from the cavern roof, spilling over the black dragon. It tried to pull away, but the light burned its scales. Tam could see the ashen gray creeping over the glossy black. He lowered the staff deliberately and the moonlight glowed brighter, burning more.

But it mixed with something else. A deeper purple glow was beginning to ooze around the edges of the dragon’s form; it thrashed its head, spitting acid, which would have caught Val full-on had he not leaped out of the way just in time with a yelp.

The glow grew stronger, though not brighter; it began to overpower the moonlight. It vibrated in the air, a sound too low for any of them to hear. The scorpion grabbed the dragon’s neck and one of its wings and stung it; the dragon screamed as the sharp stinger jabbed into its flesh, just managing to get between the scales, and it spasmed as poison poured into its body. The purple glow began to surround the scorpion as well.

“To the bridge!” Lord Mistymane called, backing away. Val turned and bolted across the bridge. Tam followed; the scorpion was holding its own. Besides, the glow was worrisome.

Shadow pelted by, racing across the bridge, followed quickly by Alfo. Lord Mistymane took the rear, cantering over to the ropes and easily stepping across the bridge with Pat nervously clinging to his mane.

The form of the dragon began to go fuzzy under the violet, and transparent; as the seconds passed, Tam could see more and more clearly the wall behind it and the cavern rather than the dragon itself. It was fading, out of reality, out of everything. Why?

“What’s happening?” Val hissed, looking at Pat.

“I have no idea!” Pat hissed back. “I’ve never seen anything like this before!”

The dragon faded, as did the scorpion, until they were gone. Simply gone.

“Oh,” Alfo said, and held up his hand. The purple mark was gone.

“…the shaman did this?” Pat said, staring. “No, that’s – no way.”

“What does he want a dragon for?” Val murmured.

“Oh, well, that I definitely don’t want to know,” Pat muttered. “I bet we’ll have to find out. Just you watch.”

The rangers were battered and exhausted. “Thank you for your timely intervention,” one of them said – a taller human man in silver plate armor with a red feather sprouting from the helmet. He wiped the blade of his sword with a red cloth. “Who are you?”

“We’re the Night Guard,” Val said. The rangers glanced at each other.

“…how long have you been down here?” Pat asked them.

One of the halflings shrugged. “Awhile,” he said. “I’m not sure, to be honest. Probably no more than a few weeks.”

“How’d you get down here?” Val tipped his head to the side, brow furrowed.

“Fell down a hole.”

“…that’s not the worst explanation I’ve ever heard, but it’s pretty bad,” Val said.

Pat climbed off Lord Mistymane’s back. The unicorn shook his mane again; it shimmered in the light that he cast off. The silver mist pooled in the divots on the craggy cavern ground. “All of you,” Lord Mistymane said, “reach into my mane.”

“Pardon?” Val stared at him.

“Reach in. You need help; I must return to my realm, but I can leave with you artifacts that may assist you.”

Pat was the first. He hesitantly put his hand forwards; his fingers brushed the shimmering strands and passed through, like reaching through mist. He put his whole hand through and withdrew it; he was holding a silvery chain with a glass circle on the end, a magnifier of some type.

Val was next. He withdrew a long, smooth wand, with an oddly oversized end and a slender point. “Neat,” he said, and then the larger end unraveled into three suckered tentacles that wrapped around his wrist. He stared. “…yeah, okay.”

Alfo reached up and pulled from the silvery mane a crooked boomerang, glittering silver with runes etched into the sides. “’S this do?” he grunted, staring at it. There was a button; he brushed it with his thumb, and a crackle of static ran over the surface. “Oh.”

Tam was last. Lord Mistymane tossed his head. “I know what you need,” he said, and dipped it; hanging on the point of his horn was a small silver ring.

_That’s metal._

“You will be able to wear it,” Lord Mistymane assured him, somehow reading his concern. Tam took the ring and slipped it onto one finger. “You cannot, however, remove it.”

That was only mildly alarming. Tam nodded and kept his voice to himself.

Lord Murdoc Mistymane looked them over. “I will see you again,” he said. “In the future. The Feywild is variable, made of dreams; we will meet in them.”

With that, he turned and walked away, image growing cloudy, until there was just a patch of fog where he had been. Even that, too, blew away in the faint breeze through the cavern.

Silence.

“We’d better get moving,” said the tall man in the armor. He looked the group over. “I’m Sir Redrick Tramdus, paladin of Waukeen.” He bowed.

“Valerian Redwyne of the Night Guard,” Val said, bowing in return. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“These are Everett and Clotilde Oakbottom,” Redrick said, as two halflings stepped forwards. Clotilde nodded to them, silent, and sheathed the greatsword she had been using against the drow; Everett unstrung his bow and slipped it back into the case across his back.

“Lovely to meet you,” Val said. “Elidyr did mention some of his rangers had gone missing; I suppose we’ve found them. Ah… weren’t there supposed to be more of you?”

“Yes,” Everett said, face clouding with anger.

“I see,” Val said carefully. “Unfortunate. I’m very sorry about that. We should probably get a move on in case the dragon decides to pop back into existence.”

“It won’t,” Alfo said.

“You can’t be sure of that,” Val sighed, rolling his eyes. “Come on. We need to move. Where’s ahead?”

“The tunnel ahead leads to a city.” Redrick pointed out one of the many tunnels that lead out of the area. “That one.”

“No sense in waiting around,” Val said, and smiled. “Let’s go.”


	10. Forgehome

Forgehome was much larger than Tam expected it to be, given that it was in the Underdark. It was populated mainly by Fjordans, tough dwarves with loud voices and rowdy lives. He did not like it at all.

The others, however, weren’t so put-off by it. The city was immediately grateful to the Guard for having killed the black dragon – apparently, it had been causing problems for them for quite some time.

The mayor, Thrardel Dimmane, had to meet with them – word of their triumph over the dragon had spread ahead of time to the city, and the people there were determined to show their gratitude. The Night Guard ate at a ridiculously overpriced restaurant while chatting with him.

“If you want to leave here, though,” said the mayor, as they picked over the miniscule and very expensive portions from Crystal Pool, “you’ll have to go through Glutton’s Teeth.”

“Oh, that’s a delightful name,” Val said, poking a fried cave fish with his fork. “What’s that?”

“It’s a fortress.” Thrardel speared a piece of limpid cavern lettuce on his plate. “Long lost, very old. Shouldn’t be too hard to get into it, though; the dragon was the one that ruled it, and now it’s gone. Plenty of folks’ll be getting ready to head out there ‘n’ try to claim the Arcane Forge.”

“The what?” Pat looked up, interested.

“The Arcane Forge! The magic forge that no smith has ever been able to replicate.” Thrardel nodded sagely. “It’s made some of the most powerful magical items in all of history. There, that boomerang you got there?” he nodded to Alfo. “That was likely made there.”

“The Thunderang?” Alfo said, turning his head to look at it; along with an infinite amount of other weapons, it was hooked onto one of his many belts.

“Is that what you’re calling it? Aye, it probably was. Many weapons were.” Thrardel lowered his voice. “They say some of the most legendary weapons were made there, like the vorpal swords, an’ all that. If you can find it… you can make some of the greatest weapons in the world.”

“…now that is appealing,” Val said.

“’Arcane,’” Pat mused. “Why?”

“I don’t know. That’s just the name,” the mayor said, with a shrug.

“If we find it, we can get better weapons,” Val said.

“No one here can smith them,” Pat pointed out.

“Oh, damn. You’re right.” Val glanced around. “Well – oh, listen, the city we’re in is called Forgehome. I’m sure we can find someone here to help us out with that. “

Tam stopped paying attention to the conversation. It wasn’t anything he could help with, that much was certain.

When he did start paying attention again, he was informed by Val that there was going to be a party for them.

“A what,” Tam said.

“A party. For us! For killing the dragon.” Val grinned. “It’ll be great.”

“No thank you,” Tam said, shaking his head.

Val sighed. “Aww, come on,” he wheedled. “It’ll be fun!”

“No thank you.”

“Fine, have it your way.” He shrugged. “It’s tonight anyways.”

Tam stayed near the lodgings they were afforded the entire evening; everyone else apparently had something to do. He heard Val and Alfo come in, arguing about a smith and how Alfo had gotten a magic ingot. “If there’s another one,” Val said, “I’m getting a weapon. You hear?”

“You already got a dagger.”

“I had to fully buy that,” Val argued back. “It was expensive!”

“Alright, alright,” Alfo grumbled, a floor below. “Fine.”

“Thank you.”

When the party kicked off, Tam turned himself into a tortoise so he didn’t have to hear them and went to sleep.

He woke up in a dark room. A closet? That’s not where he’d gone to sleep. Baffled, Tam tried to move – but his hands were tied together, and he could feel something around his neck.

What.

There was someone else in this closet. “Hey,” they hissed, in a low, rough tone. “Who are you?”

“Tam,” Tam said, too spooked by the situation not to say anything.

“I’m Franklefrag,” said the other inhabitant. “You’re all tied up, lad; and you look like you can’t see, either. We’re in a small room.”

“Why.”

“I dunno.”

“Who.”

“Dunno that one either,” Franklefrag said. There was a rustle of cloth that indicated a shrug. “You’ve got a bit of a collar on, though.”

“What.” Tam wanted to reach up, but he could already feel the collar on his neck. Disgusting. He recoiled and tried to drop his human shape, turn into rats and escape.

It didn’t work.

_This is wrong,_ he thought desperately, trying to see anything through the dark. _This is very wrong. So very, horribly wrong._

“Why can’t I,” he said.

“Probably the collar,” Franklefrag answered him. “You’re stuck, lad.”

Tam said nothing.

“I heard about you,” Franklefrag continued. “You’re travelin’ around with a nephew of mine.”

With a name like Franklefrag and a voice like a coal tunnel, this could only be one of Alfo’s multitudinous relatives. “Alfo?”

“That’s the one!” Tam could hear the smile in Franklefrag’s voice. “A good boy, him. Little mad in the head, but that’s how Nightmantles are.” He sighed.

It was uncomfortably warm in this closet. Tam stared at the wall, trying to figure out what the hell was happening. “We need out,” he said.

“Sure thing.” Franklefrag stood; Tam could hear his movement. He also stood. A sliver of light could be seen in one of the walls; that was probably a door. “Break the door down?”

“Yes.”

Together, the two of them crashed into the door enough times to burst it open. Outside there was a small, gray room, no doors and only one window, on the ceiling.

“Well, ain’t this strange?” Franklefrag said, peering around. Now that Tam could see, he definitely recognized one of Alfo’s family members. Franklefrag was less scarred, though, and more cheerful.

Tam nodded. He looked first at his own restraints; his hands were tied together, though in front of him and not behind, and he was in fact wearing a silvery collar. That seemed to be the thing that was stopping him from using any of his magic.

It was horrible.

Far, far away, Tam heard a crash. He looked up at the sound.

“What was that?” Franklefrag asked.

“I don’t know.” Tam tried to peer through the ceiling window, but couldn’t see much. It was too reflective.

How did this room exist? This didn’t make any sense. Where would have a room with no doors and a closet?

Tam shook his hair out of his face. It was uncomfortably warm in here, to the point where he was sweating. His swarm was gone, and he couldn’t do magic. What could he do?

There was no furniture in this room, and there was no way in or out. Was this a prison cell?

Another tremendous racket from outside, and a shout or two. Tam narrowed his eyes. Who was shouting? Was that the Night Guard?

The room grew warmer. Tam looked at the walls again, at the floor. What was going on here?

“I think somethin’s wrong with this room,” Franklefrag panted, looking at the walls.

“…this isn’t a room,” Tam finally said aloud, squinting as hard as he could at one of the featureless walls. There was something extremely off about this. And if he could just see what…

…it was magic. This wasn’t a room, and that wasn’t a window. It was a grate for smoke to exit and air to get in. He whirled and saw that the closet they had been in was also filled with lumps of black coal. He looked down.

They were standing on a metal grate. Below, a fire was growing.

“This is a furnace,” Tam said.

As soon as he said it, the magic faded for Franklefrag as well, who gasped. “Oh, no,” he said, looking down. “Oh no.”

The grate was their only hope. Tam began to rip at his own bindings with his teeth, but they were nowhere near as efficient as a rat’s fangs.

More shouting from outside, and the bark of a wolf. That was the Night Guard. “Go, Shadow! Find him! _Find him!_ ” Tam heard Val shout, and the voice was getting closer.

_This is ridiculous,_ he thought, and stretched a bit higher towards the grate. “Help,” he called.

Shadow barked again. Tam cleared his throat, feeling the heat below grow more intense. “I know this is out of character,” he called, “but I need help!”

“TAM!” Val yelled, outside. “We’re coming!”

The glow from below grew brighter. The coal chute they were in clunked, and several large chunks of black stone tumbled out into the area, splintering as they fell. They clattered over the metallic floor, fragments falling through the holes, and sat there, waiting for the fire.

Finally Val appeared above the grate. He frantically began to pull a rope from his bag. The grate looked just large enough to let someone through.

“Hurry,” Franklefrag called.

Val ignored him. Shadow’s curious face popped up too, and a shout told Tam that Pat and Alfo weren’t far behind. Val dropped the rope down. “Hold it,” he called to Tam. Tam took the rope and wrapped it securely around his wrists and bindings.

The furnace clunked again. The heat was beginning to hurt, stinging Tam’s skin where it was exposed. He had to squint against the light of the coals below.

Val turned to Shadow and put the rope in her mouth. “Pull,” he said, and obediently, she began to move away, yanking the rope with her, and pulling Tam up.

Pat and Alfo appeared. “Holy shit,” Pat said, upon seeing the situation.

“Help!” Val called. “Shadow alone can’t – and I’m not – “

“Hurry!” Franklefrag called. “Alfo, is that you? Help!”

Alfo stepped over and hauled on the rope as well. Together he and Shadow pulled Tam up and out of the grate.

The fire lit below, and flames began to lick up the walls. Val didn’t bother untying the rope; he drew his dagger and sliced through it, then dropped the free end down. “Take it!” he called to Franklefrag.

It was too late. Franklefrag grabbed for the rope, but the flames roared up in a blast of heat, too bright to look at. The rope was charred to cinders in an instant; nothing was left of Franklefrag seconds later, when the fire died down.

Alfo stared at the flames, then turned away.

Val wordlessly rolled the rope up. He looked a little bit battered, as did the others. Pat stepped over and used a small knife to saw Tam’s bindings off, then looked at the collar.

“Hm,” he said. “This is locked, but…”

“I don’t have my lockpicks,” Val snapped. “And it’s too small for the dagger.”

“This should work,” Pat said. He fished a piece of chalk out of his bags and pressed it into the lock; Tam felt it grate in, then Pat whispered something and snapped his fingers, and there was a sharp _crack!_ as the chalk and the collar both shattered. Tam batted the pieces off his neck and scrambled away, staring at them.

“I’m going to kill someone for this,” Val said.

“Wait your turn, I’m killing first,” Alfo snarled.

Shadow looked up and barked. Val immediately followed her gaze.

They were in a small building on a large, empty street. Tam could see a number of what looked like defunct amusement park rides looming in the darkness. But the thing that drew Shadow’s attention was the tall, gray-skinned humanoid on the other side of the street.

“You,” Val said, and whipped out his crossbow.

“Sic em,” Alfo growled. Shadow leaped forwards.

The figure turned and ran, barreling down an alleyway. Val followed as fast as he could, his crossbow in one hand, and Tam watched the figure dart into a building and watched Val follow, Shadow just ahead of him.

Pat watched them go. “We should follow,” he said, and handed Tam his staff.

They did, and when they got into the building, they found Shadow floating in a bubble of force of some type and Val held paralyzed and still by magic in a hallway. “Fucker!” he shouted, as the figure he’d been chasing vanished around the corner. “Eat shit and die!”

Pat hurled a bolt of magic that caught the figure just as it was vanishing. Tam gripped his staff and hurried forwards as the bubble around Shadow popped, letting her fall to the ground. She stared around the corner and barked – first once, then twice, then three times.

“What the hell?” Val hissed, as Alfo charged past. He closed his eyes and concentrated, and finally broke free of the magic.

Tam rounded the bend and saw the figure moving further and further away. He raised his staff and summoned the same moonlight he’d used on the dragon; the figure staggered, slowing, and nearly fell over. Its skin began to sizzle and char, turning to ash as he watched.

Alfo rounded the corner and hurled the Thunderang as hard as he could. It whipped down the hallway and cracked the being on the back of the head; it fell to the ground, limp, and slowly melted into a puddle of gray goo. The Thunderang whirled back and Alfo caught it in one hand, face stoic.

Pat panted a few times, leaning on the wall. Tam noticed one of his fingers was missing. Odd. “Doppelganger,” he said, when he got his breath back. “They robbed a bank… or, tried to, anyway. Diamonds.”

“Fuckers,” Val spat, vehemently. “Pulled a lot of shit on us today.”

“Are there more?” Alfo said. The Thunderang hummed in this decrepit hallway.

Pat only shrugged. He moved to the goop; Val followed, and poked through the puddle with his rapier tip. “Oh, look,” he said, and used the sword to scoop up a small string of beads. Several were missing. “The force beads that someone said had been stolen.”

“Here they are,” Pat said. “Of course.”

“Where else?” Val muttered.

Alfo took the beads from the tip of the rapier and pocketed them. Val nodded.

Outside the gates of the amusement park – ironically called “Fun in the Underdark Park” – was an entire contingent of guards.

“Oh, for -” Val muttered, with a sigh. He rolled his eyes and fished a small vial out of his pack. He held it up; it was filled with the goop that the doppelganger had melted into. “We just killed a doppelganger in your amusement park after it kidnapped my cousin. Don’t arrest us.”

“You’re under arrest,” said the captain.

“God damn it.”

They were arrested and taken to the mayor. “You really don’t need to manacle us,” Val told the guards, as they clasped his hands behind his back. “I’ll go regardless. It’s just undignified this way – gods, do none of you have any manners at all? This is ridiculous.”

They took Tam’s staff – he’d just gotten that back! – and led them all the way back to the palace, through the city streets. Val complained the entire way, and wouldn’t listen when told to shut up.

Thrardel and his assistant, Finn, were waiting for them. “Well,” he said, “looks like you trespassed and caused a stir. What can you say in your defense?”

“Had to rescue my cousin,” Val said immediately. “He was kidnapped by a doppelganger and almost burned to death. We killed the doppelganger – I have some of its goo if you’re really that interested.”

“And why should we believe you?”

“…do you think I’d make this up for attention?” Val glared back. Pat rolled his eyes, staring resigned at the wall.

“Quite possibly, or to cover up other crimes.”

“I swear to you, we followed Shadow into the park. She found my cousin in an incinerator with a goddamn collar on so he couldn’t escape. Someone tried to murder him.”

“Hmm.” The mayor paused, glancing over to Shadow. She’d been muzzled as well, for the time being; she hated it.

Thrardel turned and looked to his other side, and in that second, Tam caught a flash of silver in his eyes: the same silver as in the doppelganger they’d killed.

_He’s one too. He’s with them._

“Finn,” the mayor said, “could you go and fetch the guards that were in charge of the prison today?”

“Sure,” Finn said, and left the room. All that remained was Thrardel, and several of his guards.

“Now,” Thrardel said, turning back to Val, “I think that perhaps you should not have been let out of the prison. In fact, to my knowledge, you weren’t; you escaped.”

“It’s not him,” Tam said. “Alfo.”

Alfo, completely trusting Tam’s judgement and opinion, immediately moved forwards and punched the Mayor in the midsection, even with the manacles on. Val dumped his on the floor – he’d picked the lock twenty minutes earlier, while they were walking – and pulled a knife, charging Thrardel.

All hell broke loose. Tam felt a wave of relief as he shifted form to a crawling swarm of rats, spilling out over the floor and leaping onto the mayor. The dwarf screamed at the feel of teeth in his flesh, but couldn’t bat them off quick enough.

The second he died, his appearance shifted and melted away into a lanky, gray-skinned figure. Tam reformed into a human shape and watched as he turned to sludge; the guards, upon seeing this, stopped, stunned.

“I fucking told you there were doppelgangers,” Val snapped at them. “Why does everyone doubt me?”

Finn re-entered the room. “I found – oh, uh…”

“Mayor’s dead,” Val announced, turning around. “He was a doppelganger as well. Seems to be a lot of that going around.”

Finn looked to the guards through his massive glasses. They begrudgingly nodded to him, sheathing their weapons.

“Well,” he said, hesitantly. “I, uh… I guess that means you’re absolved of that guilt.”

“Thank you very much,” Val said, bowing to him.”

“Additionally, you’ve saved our city from being ruled by a doppelganger,” Finn continued. “Um, and since he’s dead, the mayorship actually passes to me for the time being, so… I’m not going to have you imprisoned.”

“Oh, delightful,” Pat said. “Can I have my finger back?”

“…what?”

“Fuck it. Never mind.”

Tam leaned on his staff and listened as the guards cleaned up the mess that had been the doppelganger impersonating Mayor Dimmane. Val spoke with Finn; the Guard was given a key, and a map.

“We’re heading to the surface,” Val said. “We’re going through Glutton’s Teeth. If we pass by the Arcane Forge, I want to get in.”

“Sure,” Finn said, nervously. “Sure. I can give you guys a key to it.”

“Great.”

They left the city the next day. “I’m done with this place,” Val muttered. “Full offense to this city? I never want to come back here for the rest of my entire life.”

“Hopefully,” Redrick said, “you won’t have to.”

“What are you doing here?” They were headed out, and the Rangers were with them.

“Coming with you. We’re headed home.” Redrick paused. “But we also want the dragon’s hoard.”

“…oh, right,” Val said. “Dragon. Hoard.”

“We helped kill it, so we’re going to get some of its treasure,” Everett said. “And we’re going to help you get through Glutton’s Teeth.”

“Can we stop you?” Alfo muttered, and ruffled Shadow’s fur with one hand.

“Not really,” Everett said.

They set off through the tunnels. “I hate getting arrested,” Val said. “I hope it never happens again.”

The tunnels were mines, and led them further inwards and down, through the darkness.

After a time, Tam felt the ground tremble. He stopped where he was, but the trembling grew stronger. “Hey,” he said, quietly, and then, “Hey!”

“What?” Val said, turning. Tam pointed down.

Val went still, then his eyes widened. “Don’t move,” he hissed, stepping over to Redrick. The big man winced as his armor clanked; Val grabbed hold of him and held him in place, and everyone else stood as still as they could. Alfo braced himself on Shadow and held his breath. Pat put one hand on the wall, then removed it, glancing worriedly at the stone.

The rumbling grew louder; Tam could feel it, resonating in his bones. Something huge was behind it, and not something they wanted to tangle with. He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing.

The rumbling grew stronger still, and just as Tam was certain something was about to chew its way out of the stone, he felt it weaken, though he could almost hear the massive bulk of something sliding past in the rock. He stayed quiet until the sound weakened, literal minutes later, and faded altogether.

Val let out a breath. “What the hell was that?” he hissed.

Pat frowned. “I’m not sure,” he said, “but it could have been a purple worm.”

“Oh, fuck _that,_ ” Val said, with fervor. “Do you think it’ll come back?”

“Hope not,” Alfo muttered.

_It won’t._ Tam narrowed his eyes. _We won’t die to a worm in the dark._

They continued onwards, taking care to be quieter. The tunnels wound further down, deeper into the Underdark. Val peered through his half-mask down the tunnels, then back up, and to Pat. “Shouldn’t we be going up to get out?”

“There’s an elevator,” Pat said, looking at the map.

“Oh, delightful! Another goddamn elevator.”

“The last one worked.”

“It also took ten hours for us to get down here.”

“We’re down here, aren’t we?” Pat shrugged. “So it’s safe to assume – “

He stopped short.

They’d come out of a tunnel carved through to a larger open cavern on the map. The cavern wasn’t very detailed on the parchment – just a big, wide-open space.

What lay in front of them was a wide-open space, technically.

“Oh, no,” said Val quietly, as the party looked out over the vast expanse of the Darklake.


	11. Dark Crossing

Shadow whined quietly behind Alfo, and he put a hand on her shoulders, comforting her.

“Well, shit,” Val said. “Why didn’t the map say there was a lake here?”

“It does say. This map is in Elvish, it probably came from the drow,” Pat said. “They did put it in kind of a weird way, though.”

“Oh. I missed it.” Val peered at the map once, then turned away, back towards the lake. “I don’t suppose any of you have a boat?”

There was a moment of silence. “Ah, actually,” Everett said, hesitantly, “I do.”

“…really?”

He opened his pack and pulled out a small box, then knelt on the ground and began to unfold it. “It was a gift,” he explained, as he worked. The box began to expand. “From when we became rangers, of course. It, ah…. it’s proved pretty useful in the past.”

The box continued expanding. Val frowned at it. “How large…?”

“It’s a boat.”

The small, ordinarily wooden box managed to very clearly exceed its intended capacity, the flaps unfolding over and over until what finally lay in front of them was a boat large enough for everyone to sit in. Pat stepped over and rapped the wood, narrowing his eyes at it; it seemed to be solid enough. “Interesting,” he muttered.

“We need to get across,” Everett said. “No sense in waiting.”

The lake was eerily silent; their voices echoed unnaturally in the darkness. Even Val tried to keep his down.

Shadow saw the boat and backed up a few paces, claws scraping on the pebbles of the shore. Her tail was tucked down between her legs and her ears were held flat against her skull.

“What’s going on?” Val hissed, elbowing Pat.

“I don’t know,” Pat said. “She’s… scared?”

“Why?”

“Must be the lake.”

“Wh – she’s scared of the water?”

Pat shrugged. “I mean, what else would it be? She can see in the dark.”

“Who’s scared of water?” Val muttered, shaking his head. “That’s weird.”

Alfo put both hands on Shadow’s head, speaking softly to her. She whined; he ran his fingers over her ears, soothing her. She finally allowed herself to be led, trembling and cowering, into the boat.

“I feel really bad for her,” Val commented, watching.

“Let’s get across the lake as quickly as possible,” Alfo muttered. “I want to get off the water. She doesn’t like it.”

“I’m on board for that,” Val said, and then laughed. “Hah! On board. We’re in a boat.”

“Keep your voice down,” Pat muttered.

Val subsided, glowering, and the entire group piled into the boat. It rocked with each entry, but stayed afloat, even with Redrick’s heavy armor inside it.

Everett took a pole that lay in the bottom of the boat – a paddle – and pushed them off the pebbled shore. He handed the paddles to Redrick, who immediately began to row them out away from the shoreline.

Tam allowed himself to sink into a trance; multiple times, they drifted silently, all lights and sound extinguished, as a sleek drow boat went gliding by them. The boats didn’t seem to take much notice of them, for the most part, though they did have a few close calls with swifter ones, including one where the drow did spot them and made a beeline for them, only to be crushed entirely and destroyed by massive, pale tentacles that rose from the water and dragged the ship down.

Darklake was not a uniform shape; they reached another part of the shore hours later, and piled out, folding the boat up for the time being.

“We have two options,” Everett said, as everyone huddled under a rock outcropping along the shoreline. “Either we keep sailing, or we head through the tunnels, because there’s a city up ahead and if we try go to around it on land we will most certainly be seen.”

“…more tunnels?” Pat said, distressed. “We’ve been traveling in tunnels for – for, what, days? Can we take the boat further through the lake?”

“We could,” Everett said, peering at the map, “but there’s a slight problem with that as well; the lake seems to have an, ah… an inhabitant.”

“A what?”

The ranger pointed at the map. Val moved over and peered over his shoulder as Pat leaned in, curious. “An inhabitant,” he said. “Someone called Naemendi.”

Pat frowned. “Oh, I know that name,” he said, after a second. “I’m familiar with – I’ve heard of him. He’s insane.”

“He drowns people when they go by, in whirling tornados of water and fire,” Redrick added, from where he sat, eating stew from a small wooden bowl. “Or so I’ve heard, from the people in Forgehome.”

“Oh, wonderful,” Val muttered. “So there’s a mad wizard guarding the lake passage and he is very powerful. Do you think –“

“Sure, I could beat him,” Pat said.

There was a moment of silence as all eyes turned to Pat, who was scrutinizing the map. He looked up. “What?”

“I was going to say that might not be our best option, then,” Val said, “and to be honest, I’m not sure about the confidence I have in you versus a centuries-old wizard who lives in a lake in the Underdark.”

“…I’m also a centuries-old wizard,” Pat said, affronted, “and I’m pretty sure I could take him!”

“No,” Tam said.

“No more lakes,” Alfo called, from the edge of the campsite. He and Shadow were sitting silently against a rock, watching out for lakeside patrols of drow that the party feared may come too close. “No more going across the water. We’re done with it.”

“And I’m done with the giant squids,” Val said, glancing back out to the water with a shudder. “I don’t fancy meeting another one. Yes, it saved our lives, but really? I’d prefer never to meet again.”

Pat threw his hands in the air. “Well, all right, fine. The tunnels it is, I guess.” He glared at the rocks. “Were do we go in?”

“Right over here.” Everett tapped the map. “We have to be careful, though. They may have shifted or changed between now and when this map was changed; you know how the Underdark does that.”

“Oh, do we,” Pat muttered, looking down to the blue crystal that hung around his neck. “Do we ever.”

They packed up camp and found the entryway Everett had pointed out, a small, dark hole tucked under a couple of black rocks. The rangers led them in and even the last glimmers of bioluminescence from the fungi that clung to the roof of the cavern far above the Darklake finally faded away.

Val dropped his goggles down and swept his cloak around him, and his image seemed to waver in the darkness. He darted ahead and vanished into the shadows. Tam touched the edge of his mask and wished for the hundredth time he could see in the dark.

After a few minutes, Val came back. “There’s a split up ahead,” he whispered to them, as he pulled the hood of his cloak down. “Left and right. Not sure what to do about that.”

The party examined the fork when they reached it; one path led east, the other west. There were no markings of any type that showed what they may lead to.

“Hold on,” Pat said, as the party stared at the two paths. HE stepped forwards and crouched at the mouth of the eastern tunnel. “Look at this.”

Tam stepped up; he’d seen something in the dirt as well. Tracks, perhaps? Movement? “What?”

Pat ran his fingers along the stone. “Prints,” he said. “And – there, look. In the wall.” He stood and ran one hand over long, jagged marks in the rocks. “These are from a pickaxe.”

“How do you know that?” Val muttered. Pat didn’t answer him.

“We should head west, then,” Redrick said. “The drow have been by too recently for us to be safe going that way. It may lead to their city.”

“Definitely head west, then,” Val muttered.

They headed onwards through the dark. Val flitted back and forth between the party and the darkness ahead, keeping an eye out for danger, but they seemed to travel in relative peace and solitude. The tunnels were full of strange things – more pockets of rotting vegetation, a spinning geode in a pocket of magma they were forced to walk through, a part of the tunnel littered with tiny gemstones the size of sand grains. But the tunnel eventually began to lead up.

“I guess it’s too much to hope this leads to the surface?” Pat sighed, as they trudged onwards.

As he spoke, there was a faint sound from ahead – falling rock and stone. Tam narrowed his eyes into the darkness, but couldn’t see anything.

Seconds later, Val came whisking back through the shadows. “Cave-in,” he panted, clearly having sprinted back at full speed. “Just happened. Nearly nicked me going through.”

“I told you the Underdark changes,” Everett muttered.

“Hell of a coincidence,” Alfo muttered.

The cave-in was blocking the entirety of the tunnel, but there were smaller pathways that led to the sides, on the relatively flat ground. Pat narrowed his eyes at the mess of rock and dirt.

“I don’t think this is natural,” he said, as the group gathered around him. “Goblins often do this; they will cave in tunnels to ambush the people traveling in them.”

“Where are you getting all this?” Val hissed to him, staring.

“I went to university,” Pat snapped back. “And graduated, unlike some people.”

Tam frowned at the dirt and the rocks. There was certainly enough room for smaller creatures to get through, if not larger ones. What if he…

“Well, that’s quite rude,” Val said, affronted. “Why’d you have to bring that up?”

“Because you’re being annoying. Stop it, and help us figure out which way to go!”

“I can try and look down the pathways, but that won’t help much if I end up ambushed and the rest of you are fine,” Val hissed.

Tam closed his eyes and melted into a pile of beetles. He swarmed forwards and scuttle through the gaps in the debris, pushing through soil and stone and digging out towards the far side of the collapse. the ground there vibrated slightly and he paused; what was that?

More vibrations. Movement. footsteps. Footsteps of creatures, multiple smaller ones… goblins.

It was not the optimal time to fight them. He turned around and went back, pouring out of the pile and using the glittering bodies to rebuild his form. The others watched him silently as he did so.

“Goblins wait,” he said, pointing, when he was human again. “On the other side. Not the tunnels.”

“Oh,” Val said.

“Well, then, which way?” Pat asked him. “Which one is safer?”

“West. Towards the lake.” The goblins had been running back and forth from the eastern side. That was the direction of their warren. “They live the other way.”

“That’s our answer, then,” Val said brightly, smiling. “Well done, Tam!”

Tam nodded, silent. Redrick glanced over to the other two rangers; they nodded, silently, and the group turned and headed down the western path towards the lake again.

Val headed forwards, as always. “I’ll go look ahead,” he said.

“Are you sure that’s a good – “

Pat stopped as Val drew one hand through the air in front of him and shimmered out of visibility, replaced first with a faint waver in the dark and then nothing. “It’ll be fine,” he hummed, and drifted away.

“Aaaaal-right,” Pat said, and crossed his arms. The group waited.

He came back moments later. “No,” he hissed, eyes wide. “Absolutely not. We go the other way.”

“Why?”

“There’s a drider up ahead and a whole bunch of drow. I don’t know about you, but I don’t really fancy tangling with those. Doesn’t seem like it would end well for us.” He fiddled with the hilt of the dagger he’d bought, fingering the smooth blue pommel stone gently. “I didn’t get seen, thanks to the knife, but they’ll notice if we go any closer.”

“Well, shit,” Alfo said.

“We have to go back. The other way.”

 _So much for my helpful information,_ Tam thought sourly, as the group turned and began to make their way as quietly as possible back towards the goblin warrens. _It didn’t do us much good._

They reached the main cavern again. “What is going on down here?” Everett said, once they were sure that nothing was listening in that actually cared about what they had to say. “What’s with all the movement? This is unusual, for the Underdark; even I know that.”

“The dragon,” Pat said, and immediately dove into his pack for something.

“…is it in your bag?” Val asked, eyebrows raised.

“No. Idiot. The dragon!” Pat pulled a small book out of his bag. “Remember, we got this book at the museum?”

“Oh… right.”

Pat furiously flipped through the pages. “What was its name?” he said. “I don’t remember if anyone told us… here. Ewlbkhan. The black dragon that we killed.” He paused. “…or sent off. I’m not sure which. But it ruled Glutton’s Teeth, and now I’ll bet everything in the area wants what it had. We’re not the only ones after its hoard. The mayor mentioned something about it, too.”

“Of course not,” Everett said. “But every faction of the Underdark? Really?”

“Yes.”

“Even the – there’s got to be more than just a dragon’s hoard in there.”

“The Forge,” Alfo said, from where he stood holding on to Shadow’s collar. “The Arcane Forge. That AND a dragon’s hoard and you’ve got something worth moving an army for.”

“He’s right,” Pat realized, snapping the book shut. “Combine the two, and who knows what you could make?”

“If you’ve got a smith,” Val piped up.

“Oh, and what Underdark city doesn’t have a smith?” Pat replied, snide. “Get real.”

Val subsided.

They moved eastward. The tunnels were quiet – far too quite to be normal, in Tam’s opinion; the movement of insects and small vermin creatures was dampened, like they’d been cleared out, or like things moved through the area more often. He listened for anything out of the ordinary, but couldn’t detect anything –

No. Wait. There. He held his staff out to stop Val, in the front of the party, from darting off again, as they neared the small sound. “Wait,” he said quietly, squinting into the darkness.

There was a small marking on the wall – some type of crack or fissure.  Tam stared at it closely. “What is it?” Pat breathed.

“Trap.”

From beyond the fissure echoed the sound of moving metal, chain mail perhaps, and breathing – and the faintest echo of voices, whispered words, tiny sounds. Tam shook his head. “Danger,” he muttered.

Alfo stepped forwards, far too silent for a dwarf his size and stature. He raised the pike that had been crafted for him in Forgehome and narrowed his eyes at the fissure. “Hm,” he said, and stabbed forwards.

The entire tunnel roof collapsed and small forms swarmed out onto the ground. Tam raised his staff and immediately stepped backwards into a defensive posture, and Redrick unsheathed his sword in a ringing cry of metal. Val whipped out his rapiers and dashed forwards, and Pat’s magic flared up in bolts of bright light.

It took mere seconds for the group to dispatch the goblins that attacked them, and not a single goblin landed a blow on any one of them. “Pathetic,” Val spat, looking at the corpses and wiping the blood off his sword. “That was, without a doubt, one of the worst attempts at an ambush I have ever had the misfortune of being a part of.”

“It could have gone a lot worse,” Alfo said.

A heavy stomp echoed through the tunnel. Val looked up, color draining from his face. “You were saying?” he whispered, as a tall, red-skinned figure stepped through the crack in the wall, clad completely in slivery armor and carrying a long, jagged sword.

Alfo responded by releasing his hold on Shadow’s collar. She charged forwards and leaped at the hobgoblin, but he easily knocked her aside with a quick hit from one fist and swiped his sword downwards, slashing her across the flank. She whimpered slightly and Alfo snarled and followed her lead, charging with his axe. Pat called forth another blast of ice.

Tam narrowed his eyes at the armor. Distasteful, full metal armor. Unwieldy, irritating, an eyesore.

And very conductive.

He closed his eyes and concentrated, calling on the magic he held within his staff and that he could pull from the earth around him. He channeled the heat of the magma far below and brought it swirling up in a smooth ink-stain pattern through the air, pouring it into the hobgoblin’s armor.

It screamed. He opened his eyes to see the armor glowing red-hot, a wavering link of magic holding it to his staff, and Val gaping at it like it was the most incredible thing he’d ever seen. “Holy shit!” he called over, grinning, “That’s fantastic!”

He followed up with a quick jab between the plates of the armor, and the hobgoblin hissed as the tip of the rapier poked a neat hole in its shoulder. It swung at Val, and caught him heavily in the side, but it didn’t cut through his armor, just knocked him back a bit. He was still grinning when he hit the ground and rolled backwards, managing to pop back up into a standing position just a little further away.

“Back away!” Pat called, holding a whirling sphere of fire in his hand. Val darted backwards and Alfo hauled Shadow away from her prey just as Pat released the fire, and several bolts of burning energy slammed into the hobgoblin leaders’ armor and melted it to slag. He went down with it, howling the entire way.

“Hot shit,” Val crowed, staring. “No pun intended.”

Tam released the heat of the earth and let it fade back through the rocks. The armor cooled to a pool of dirty metal, puddling in the jagged bits of rock that made up the tunnel floor and flecked with dirt. Val began to clean his rapier again, this time much more comfortably. “Alright, now that time it could have gone a lot worse, and I think we did pretty well. Look, he’s dead.”

Tam wrinkled his nose at the smell of burning flesh. The earth recoiled at what he’d called from it; it did not like that. He would not do it again. The heat was fleeing from him, because he shouldn’t have pulled it. He felt it rebuking him as it went.

_I will not do that again._

They cleaned their weapons and kicked dirt over the corpses. Val wanted to burn them all, but it wasn’t worth it; the rangers persuaded him not to, and they headed onwards.

Tam knew what time it was, even down here. The sun was so far away, but he could still feel it passing over the world… it felt strange, different, like something was changing it between the surface and this place, but he couldn’t exactly tell what. It didn’t matter.

It was late. Night, nearly midnight. The group moved onwards. Tam was watching the party when he began to sense a strange disturbance in the magic of the area.

It was divine, unlike Pat’s magic, or Val’s. So he could feel it – something slowly, carefully moving its attention this way.

“Caution,” he said, glancing around. Everyone stopped, looking at him, then looked to the tunnel walls, but nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary.

“What is it?” Redrick asked. “What’s happening?”

Tam only shook his head. It was as if a spotlight were slowly being turned on him, inch by inch, only… it was slipping past him, looking over him. He wasn’t important to it. Something else was. Someone else. Val?

No. Not Val. It looked over him, too, and instead settled on Pat, who looked up, then around. He caught Tam staring at him and swallowed nervously, eyes flicking about.

“…what’s happening,” Pat said.

Midnight.

There was a brilliant flash of light, and suddenly Pat was gone. Tam felt the presence watching react slowly, but purposefully, and before the light had faded there was something else in Pat’s place.

Someone extremely tall, wearing dark robes, with deep coal-black skin and brilliant yellow eyes.

“…what the fuck?” Val said, staring.

The newcomer was easily taller than Val, lanky, dressed in cold-weather robes and carrying a small book under one arm. There was a bag slung over one shoulder and a small marbled orb circling his head, gently floating in the air. Patterns of dark scales ran across his skin, and his eyes were slit-pupiled, like a snake’s. His hair was a soft gray color and fluffy. His features were strangely youthful, as if he were a boy of perhaps sixteen.

“Hello,” he said, into the dead silence. “My name is Manuya Teoshi, and Oghma sent me to help you.”


	12. Replacement

Val unsheathed his rapier instantly. “What did you do with Pat?” he hissed, holding it out tip-first towards the stranger. Alfo pulled his axe as well, settling back. The rangers seemed too startled to move.

“Who?” the boy looked faintly confused, glancing between them. “I’m not familiar with – oh, Redrick! Everett, Clotilde!”

“…Manny?” Everett said, and laughed. “It really is you!”

“…who…?” Val said, looking back and forth between everyone. “Wait, no, who the hell is he?”

“I told you, my name is Manuya Teoshi,” Manny said, nodding to Val. “I’ve come to help.”

“Fat lot of good you’ve done taking Pat away!” Val jabbed the rapier forwards through the air, nowhere close to Manny, but still close enough to threaten. “Where’d he go?”

Manny paused, looking off to the side. “I was going to fight a dragon,” he mused, “so I guess that’s where he is now.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Val muttered.

Alfo narrowed his eyes at Manny. “How do we know you’re not lying?” he demanded.

“…why would I lie?” Manny glanced over at the rangers. “Oghma sent me.”

“Okay, and that’s a god,” Val snapped. “So this can’t be true.”

“It is,” Tam said. Val whirled to face him, dropping the rapier point, stunned. “Something did that. He’s telling the truth.”

“…what in the hell,” Val said softly.

Manny put his hands out. “Listen, I didn’t do this. Oghma did.”

Alfo shifted his grip on the axe. “Prove it.”

“How am I supposed to – “

He was interrupted as Shadow trotted up to him, wagging her tail, and licked one of his outstretched hands. He stared at her, wide-eyed, and then almost mechanically patted her shaggy head.

Alfo relaxed instantly, putting the axe away. “Alright,” he said, “you’re good.”

“Shadow trusts you, so I suppose we can,” Val agreed, and slowly slid his rapier back into its sheathe. “But… will Pat be alright?”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be fine. I was with an entire contingent of knights.” Manny shrugged. “Is there something you need help with?”

“Who are you?” Val said, folding his arms. He eyed Manny, irritated; he was shorter than the boy.

Boy? Tam paused, narrowing his eyes. _He’s not a boy. He’s older than that. But how much older?_

“Manuya Teoshi,” Manny said, for the third time.

“Yes, I understand  that’s your name. You’re a child. What are you doing down here, allegedly being teleported around the world by a god?”

“I’m a Hero,” Manny said, and pulled the silver dragon pendant out from beneath his robes, letting it lie atop the dark fabric. “Just like you.”

Val slowly swiveled on his heel to look over at the rangers. Clotilde nodded in agreement with Manny and looked to Redrick.

“He is,” Redrick confirmed. “One of the early ones, actually.”

“…what?” Val whipped around to look at Manny again. “How old are you?!”

“I don’t know,” Manny replied casually.

“How do you not know?”

“I don’t remember?”

Val ran his hands over his face. “Today just gets better and better.”

“It’s midnight,” Tam said.

“Thank you for that.”

There was a brief silence. “Well,” Alfo finally said, drawing everyone’s attention, “no point in standing around.”

They headed onwards. Val kept himself near Manny, eyeing him cautiously, warily. Shadow walked alongside them, often bumping against Manny playfully. Tam kept his grip tight on his staff.

_He is here to help. He means it, and it is the truth._

Manny was not a danger to them – not directly. But the Underdark was a dangerous place, and Manny wouldn’t have been sent to them if they didn’t need him.

He proved it pretty quickly, when again they stumbled into the path of a group of goblins – and this one was better armed than the last.

Their first indication of the goblins’ presence was a slight titter of laughter from a tiny tunnel near the cavern roof, and their second was a blossom of fire that burst in the center of the group. Tam saw Val dash sideways and roll away from the flames, and saw Alfo press himself against the wall to avoid them. Tam whipped his cloak around and felt the fire lick at the edges, but withstood the blast.

Redrick was caught in the middle of it. He cried out as he vanished for a moment in the flare of light; Tam also heard the sharp yelp of Shadow as the fire swept over her thick coat. The other two rangers tried to leap away from the blast but couldn’t quite escape the flames.

“Ambush!” Val shouted, coming up from his dodge roll into a standing position. He whipped his crossbow out and fired off a bolt at the tunnel where a few small forms rustled around in the dark; the head of the bolt pinged off the stone and clattered away into the darkness. He swore to himself and fumbled, reloading.

Manny stood up. “That’s my line,” he said, sounding vaguely disappointed, and held one hand out; a bloom of fire sprouted from his palm and jetted outwards, striking into the far wall with in another explosion. This time, the screams of goblins as they were annihilated by the flames echoed around the cavern as the light died down.

One goblin remained, wearing comically oversized robes and holding a wand. It chittered angrily at the group and ran forwards, bringing new goblins from the walls with it. Val dropped his crossbow to the ground and grabbed frantically for his harp, whispering something as he dragged his fingertips across the strings; the air amidst the goblins began to grow hazy, greenish and shifting. The goblins inside began to cough.

“Hold your breath!” He shouted, as Alfo charged in and began to slash left and right at the small forms.

Tam moved over to Shadow. She was lying limp on the ground; he extended one hand and held it just above her charred pelt, calling a different kind of warmth from the earth around him, a softer warmth, a golden glow that surrounded her wounds and began to soak into them like water. The skin healed, bubbling backwards from its blackened state to pink and the gray fur reforming from ash. She flicked her eyes open, caught sight of the goblins, and growled.

Good. Tam moved back to the rangers and began to heal Everett as well; he heard Val call out a word in a language he didn’t understand and saw the brief stab of deep reddish light flare up around Redrick. That was Val’s magic, laced with golden shimmer, and Redrick gasped in a breath, opening his eyes.

Everett stirred as well, regaining consciousness quickly as he heard the sounds of battle. “I have Clotilde,” he wheezed, gaze lighting on Tam. “Go – go fight.”

Tam turned and sent his rats forwards. They poured out from his robe in a wave that scurried across the floor, tiny bodies swarming over each other, into the cloud of gas. It didn’t seem to affect them at all, a fact for which he was grateful.

Or – no, the gas was gone. Tam narrowed his eyes as the goblin in the robes waved the wand in a ridiculous pattern through the air, gaining a fluffy beard in a burst of feathers as he did so. A stiff breeze suddenly whipped through the cavern, dispersing the greenish gas as it went.

“Oh, you bastard,” Val snarled, next to him. “I just – that was a spell worth casting! Damn it!”

Alfo charged towards the smaller goblin. “Wait,” Manny called, belatedly, as another brilliant bead of fire grew in his palm. It streaked past Alfo and into the goblins, where it again burst into a massive flower of flame. The fire enveloped Alfo for a moment and Tam saw Val visibly wince.

“Bastard,” Alfo roared, from somewhere within the conflagration.

Manny shrugged. “I did warn you. And it solved the problem, didn’t it?”

“Wonderful,” Val muttered, shaking his head. “Pat was about ninety percent of our impulse control, and now he’s gone and we have this to deal with.”

Tam sent his rats forward. Not him, just the swarm. They willingly scurried into the flames as they retreated and focused on the goblin who had been casting magic; he was already thrown off guard by Alfo and Redrick, and the rats leaped up onto him and pulled him to the ground, tearing him to shreds.

Silence; the rats chewed on the body, and everyone moved forwards. Further along they could see small, netted bundles.

One of them moved. Tam narrowed his eyes at it; no one else seemed to notice.

“Well, that handles that,” Val said, letting out a breath.

Tam moved over to the net and peered at it. There was a drow inside, and she was alive. She blinked wide, dark eyes at him in fear.

“Hm,” he said, and began to cut the net apart.

“What are you doing?” Alfo called over, to Tam.

Tam didn’t answer, instead freeing the drow and helping her up. She was dressed in simple clothes – nothing fancy, a dirty dress and frock. “Thank you,” she said, in Elvish. “Thank you. They were going to kill me!”

The stench of decay rolled through the hallway; the other things the goblins had already killed. “Mm-hm,” Tam said.

The drow looked over the party and switched to Common. “My name’s Talila.” She bowed nervously, glancing up to look around at her surroundings and at the party, who had realized what was going on and closed in around her. “Um – what are you… what are you doing?”

“Passing through,” Val said, folding his arms.

“Oh,” Talila said. “Well, so am I… Could – could you help me get home?”

Val and Alfo exchanged a glance.

“Where’s home?” Tam asked her.

“Well… it would be the city above, but – I’m just a maid, really, I travel with my mistress, and she’s moved… she’s moved thataway.” She pointed down the tunnel in the direction the Night Guard had been heading.

“Lucky for you, we need to go that way,” Val said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t attack anyone.”

“I wouldn’t! I would never,” Talila gasped.

Val smiled at her. “Great!”

They continued further. The tunnels were rife with traps, most of which they managed to locate and dispatch; goblin handiwork was neither subtle nor complex.

It leveled out after a time and before them Val spotted an opening. “I’ll check it out,” he said, but as he was speaking, a low, brassy horn call sounded beyond the entryway. The entire party froze.

“Hobgoblins,” Val said, as Alfo went still, eyes glazing over. Not again, Tam thought, and wondered if he would attack them this time.

Redrick looked towards the entryway. “That’s a problem,” he muttered.

Val swept his cloak around him. “I’m going to scout,” he said. “I promise it won’t take long.”

“Are you sure,” Everett started, but Val had already darted off into the darkness, vanishing almost instantly. Tam heard him moving away for a few seconds more and then there was nothing.

“…alright,” Manny said.

The Night Guard moved forward to the exit. It led onto a ledge that had a tiny, craggy pathway leading down into the darkness of a vast cavern; Tam stared beyond it at the view.

On the other side of the cavern, lit only by a few bonfires on the walls, was a fortress. Massive, curving spikes protruded from the ground and ran the entire height of the fortress, stabbing like giant fangs towards the distant cavern roof. They were formed from smooth, black stone, the same stone that the Guard had been finding this whole time; stone that devoured light. The tall, dark walls of the fortress were completely still, not a single figure anywhere on them.

Between the Night Guard and the fortress was a wide open rocky plain, and congregating on that plain was a massive army. Fires burned, filling the cavern with a haze of war-smoke, and the murmuring of the distant rabble could be heard even here. It was goblins and hobgoblins, and they’d pitched a war camp right in the Guard’s path.

“Bigger problem,” Redrick said.

Val. Tam crept up to the edge and looked around for any sign of his cousin, but he was absent; if he was there, somewhere, he was hiding, and he was doing it well.

 Talila glanced around the group again. “Um,” she began, wringing her hands together, “I need to get through there…”

“To where?” Tam asked, stepping back from the ledge and turning to face her.

“…through…?”

“To where?”

Talila’s shoulders fell. “To the fortress,” she finally said. “My – my people captured it after the dragon died. They’re in there right now. I guess – the hobgoblins want it too. But I didn’t think they’d make this big of an army!”

“No one would,” Alfo said solemnly, looking out over the expanse. He rested the butt end of his axe on the ground and leaned on the blade, staring at the army. “But through there? Our only way out.”


	13. Method Acting

“Assuming we can get to the fortress,” Everett said, drawing everyone’s attention, “how do we get through?”

“We’ve got maps,” Manny said. “Right?”

Silence.

“…right?” Manny said again.

“Pat had them,” Alfo finally muttered. “He’s gone.”

They no longer had the maps given to them by Finn in Forgehome; Pat had taken them with him when he’d vanished. Tam closed his eyes and thought of them. He could remember exactly what they looked like, every detail. He could redraw them.

“Paper,” Tam said. “I can make them again.”

“You can what?” Redrick stared at him.

“I can draw them.”

The group settled in a niche as far back from the edge of the cavern as they could, as stealthily as they could manage. Tam began to sketch out the maps – he remembered them perfectly, as he did with everything. There were three floors, and he knew them all.

“Many entrances,” he murmured, as he drew. “Which would be easiest…?”

“I – I should let you know,” Talila said, looking over Tam’s shoulder, “that our, um… my people have trapped the entryways to the fortress. All of them.”

“Oh, good,” Everett muttered.

There was movement by the edge of the cavern – everyone pulled their weapons, but it was just Val, who popped his head up.

“Hey,” he called, quietly. “So, um, you know there’s a very large army ahead of us.”

“Yes,” Alfo said.

“Alright. Well.” Val flipped his mask up, peering at the rest of them. “How do we intend to get around that?”

“We can’t go around,” Redrick said, spreading his hands. “Not all of us. And we won’t be able to get close to the fortress without being seen.”

They stared at the maps, then at the army. Val shook his head. “We need to rest,” he said.

“There’s nowhere safe.”

“Well…” Val smiled, raising an eyebrow, and pulled out his harp. Alfo sighed heavily, and Val glanced over. “Oh, don’t do that yet. I want to see if this works.”

He hummed softly to himself, weaving the notes through a few chords plucked on the harp, and slowly a dome shimmered into existence over the entire group. It was dark, gray-black like the stone, and see-through – though only from the inside.

“Oh, nice,” Manny said, looking at it. “Cool.”

“Aha,” Val said, grinning. “Good spell, this one. Been trying to remember it. I can’t leave, but the rest of you can come and go as you wish. It’ll last about eight hours or so before dissipating.”

It was safety. That’s what it was, for them. They could rest inside, recover. Talila left them after a short time, slipping back to her people, and promised that she wouldn’t tell the drow where she had been before she left.

As the rangers were laying out their bedrolls, Manny walked to the edge of the dome and sat down. “Hey,” he said, to the air. “So, you know, how are you?”

“…who are you talking to?” Val asked, from next to the fire.

“Oghma,” Manny answered, waving one hand idly. “Don’t worry about it.”

Everyone else exchanged a few glances. Tam narrowed his eyes, but couldn’t detect anything out of the ordinary happening.

_Strange._

Tam was the only one who knew when it was morning or evening. It was morning when they woke and tried to make a plan.

“Here’s the thing,” Val said, as they crouched around the low fire. “Hobgoblins and bugbears and the like are all very suspicious, easily tricked. We can probably use that somehow.”

“We should impersonate their gods,” Manny said.

“Uh, what?” Val glanced over. “That’s… that’s a death trap right there, Manny.”

Manny shrugged. Val turned back to the group. “They’re not that bright. So… this is going to sound – alright, listen.”

“Listening,” Alfo said, eyebrows raised.

“They already don’t like us, right? We’ve fought some of them before, and some got away. They probably know what a couple of us look like.” Val pointed to Tam and Alfo. “You two, specifically. They got a good look at you. Not me and certainly not Manny. So, here’s my idea.”

_This is going to be a very bad idea._

“We pretend to have captured the two of you, and we’re going to take you, and execute you inside Glutton’s Teeth!”

_There it is._

“How…” Redrick shook his head with a sigh. “How will that get us into the fortress?”

“We’ve clearly captured two of their greatest enemies so far. Obviously we will be able to take out the drow leaders or whatever.”

“…I can help,” Manny suddenly said, looking up. “I’m a good actor.”

“Perfect,” Val said, grinning.

“They’ll believe it if we’re convincing enough,” Manny said, eyes widening. “If we can intimidate them, maybe, we can get them to let us just walk through!”

“Uh, excuse me,” Everett said, frowning. “You’re both humans.”

Manny frowned. “Hey!”

“Humanoids, sorry. Surface,” Everett amended. “You don’t belong down here. What’s to stop them from just killing all of you?”

“You need some type of authority over them,” Redrick said, staring at the rocky cavern floor below them. “And I’m not sure that that will be easy for you. You don’t belong down here. You need some reason for them not to kill you.”

Val stopped for a moment, thinking. He stared at the fire, and Tam could practically see the wheels turning in his head. “Manny,” he said, after a moment, “what was that you said about impersonating gods?”

“We should impersonate their gods,” Manny repeated. “They’re stupid, right? They’ll fall for it.”

“I don’t know if we can do the _gods_ , per se, “Val said, “but there’s no reason we can’t do _messengers_ from their gods.”

“Do you even know what their gods are?” Everett hissed.

“I do,” Val said, with complete confidence. “The first and foremost of these gods is Maglubiyet, and his domain is thus: he desires the oppression of other races above all else. God number two, of the bugbears… I don’t remember what his realm is, but it doesn’t matter, because he answers to Maglubiyet, like the bugbears answer to the hobgoblins. The goblin gods are all subjugated by god one, so they won’t be important to us.”

“…how do you know all that?” Tam finally asked after a moment of dead silence.

“I did a project on it in college.”

“Oh.”

“I can make you look like something you’re not,” Alfo suddenly said, glancing back to his bags. “I can do that. I can make you look like anything.”

“Is there something you’ve got in mind?” Val asked.

“How about an angel?”

* * *

 

“This is – you know, when I am standing here, about to walk into an extremely large and unfriendly army, this idea suddenly seems a lot less plausible,” Val said to Manny, nervously.

“Oh, we’ll be fine.” Manny flicked his fingers gently and the huge, dark wings that sprouted from his back – made of hide and feathers and glue, but eerily resembling real wings - flapped gently, sending wisps of dust across the cavern floor. “I’m here, so they’ll believe anything we say.”

“Are you sure?”

“Pretend to be sure, and it’ll be the truth.”

“That’s oddly wise.”

Manny shrugged.

Behind them, Tam and Alfo were in chains. Tam hated it – the chains were metal, clamped around his wrists, and the cold steel burned on his skin. It was disgusting, but at least it wasn’t as bad as when the doppelgangers had put the collar on him, the one that had stolen his magic away. Nothing would ever be that bad.

They headed forwards. The camp was filled with low, smoky fires; the creatures there didn’t need light to see, and the light was only there for warmth, or to cook meat, or something. Tam wrinkled his nose as they drew closer.

The guards outside the c amp spotted them when they drew close and pulled weapons.

“Put those down,” Val snapped. “You should know better than to threaten those superior to you.”

There was a moment of silence, where they stared at him, eyes wide.

“Are you deaf, scum?” he growled, pulling his rapier half from its sheath. “Get out of my way.”

They did – they obeyed him, scurrying away from him like rats. Val kept a look of imperious condescension on his face at all times, glaring at anything that came too close and even whipping out his rapier to take a swipe at a goblin who got uncomfortably near him.

There was a larger tent towards the center of the camp, and Val and Manny headed straight for it, pulling Tam and Alfo along as they went. The chains weren’t tight – they didn’t want to hurt them, obviously – but they were tight enough to be convincing.

There was a hobgoblin in the tent who stepped out as they got near. “Who are you?” he demanded, glaring at Val.

“I am an emissary of Maglubiyet,” Val said, “and this is my companion, a deva of your god. We’ve been sent to assist you in your takeover of Glutton’s Teeth. As you can see, we’ve already captured the two imbeciles responsible for your repeated deaths of scout squadrons. Clearly, since none of you have the capability to catch two surface-dwellers, you need our help.”

The hobgoblin stared at them, eyes narrowed. Manny flapped his wings again and stared back silently.

“He’s small for a deva,” the hobgoblin said.

“And you’ve seen one before?” Val snapped back, instantly.

“Why doesn’t he speak?”

“I have one to speak for me,” Manny spoke up, expressionless. “I don’t need to.” His brilliant orange eyes slid over to Val. “Make it fast. This place stinks.”

Val, to his credit, looked sufficiently cowed by that. He cleared his throat and looked back to the hobgoblin. “What we’re going to do is enter Glutton’s Teeth, kill the drow queen, and sacrifice these disgusting curs on the battlements. At the same time, we’ll open the doors for your army.” He spat to the side. “Since you couldn’t do it yourself.”

The hobgoblin narrowed his eyes. Val lifted his chin and stared back, looking every bit the irritated noble.

“Hmm,” the hobgoblin said, and looked to Alfo and Tam. Tam remembered abruptly that he was supposed to actually be a prisoner of Val’s, and did his best to shake his chains and look unhappy.

Alfo, next to him, did the same. He hoped he was more convincing than that performance, because Alfo looked more bored than anything.

The hobgoblin stepped forwards, then put one foot on the chain, tugging it at Tam’s wrists. He made what he hoped was a suitably unhappy noise and looked to Val.

“Head down,” Val snapped, imperiously. “Don’t expect mercy. Don’t look to me for help.”

_He’s very convincing._

The hobgoblin looked up as Val spoke, then stepped back, nodding. “Very well,” he said. “I trust a deva of our god to do as it says.”

“Your lack of faith is disturbing, to me,” Manny growled, and flapped his wings again, settling them as he moved. At the same time his eyes flared up brighter and he hissed slightly, baring his fangs towards the hobgoblin.

It took a half-step back, startled, and recovered quickly. “We will do as you say,” it said. “We will wait for your signal.”

“Good. In the meantime, make sure none of your pawns disturb us,” Val ordered. “The last thing we need is some pathetic whelp stumbling in and messing about where it shouldn’t be. Keep your idiot soldiers in line.”

“…of course,” the hobgoblin managed, after a second.

Manny turned and swept out of the tent without another word. Val followed; Alfo and Tam had to scramble up to follow him out.

He maintained that cold, disgusted mask all the way out of the camp and halfway through the cavern. When they were finally, definitely out of earshot of the camp, and long out of eyesight, he grinned and turned to Tam, pulling the chains off. “Oh, I can’t believe that worked,” he said, eyes alight.

“It nearly didn’t,” Tam said.

“Don’t be such a downer. It was fine.” He looked over to Alfo as Manny pulled his chains off. “Your disguise was perfect! I didn’t know you could do that!”

Alfo grinned at him. “It’s useful sometimes,” he said.

They climbed the side of the cavern, sticking to the wall, and found the rangers inside Val’s dome, waiting for them. They looked up when they entered.

“You’re not dead!” Redrick said, sitting up straighter. “Oh, thank the gods.”

“It worked,” Val said, beaming. “We’ve got a route in, and the army won’t touch us. You’ll have to sneak around, but you’re very good at that. We’ll have an easy in at the sewer.” He did a little twirl, almost bouncing in excitement. “Oh, for a minute there, I thought they wouldn’t believe us. But it worked!”

“You liked that too much,” Tam accused, grumbling.

Val rolled his eyes. “Listen,” he said, “when you spend as much time as I have listening to nobles order people around, you pick up how to do it.”

“Yes, but you didn’t have to enjoy it like you did,” Alfo cut in, looking up.

“Does subjugation come naturally to you?” Redrick asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Hey now, hey,” Val said, looking around at the group, “this isn’t the conversation we’re supposed to be having right now!”

Tam rubbed his wrists, where the chains had touched his skin, and sat down by the small fire. “The fortress,” he said. “The sacrifice.”

“Pardon?” Val glanced back at Glutton’s Teeth. “Oh, you mean the fact that we said we’d sacrifice you to Maglubiyet.”

“You said what?” Everett spluttered, looking up from a bowl he’d been holding. Was that stew? Tam wanted some.

Val waved a hand nonchalantly. “I said we’d kill Alfo and Tam in honor of Maglubiyet. You know, behead them in full view of the army and whatnot. We don’t really –“

“Guys!! I could craft our heads!” Alfo gasped, breaking into the conversation. “Fake heads…”

“That’s admirable,” Val said, trying to hold back his laughter, “but I think we’re just going to not attempt that whole mess and instead just betray the hobgoblins entirely and fortify Glutton’s Teeth against them, if we’re even discovered by the drow.”

“…ah, I guess,” Alfo said, shrugging.

Redrick frowned, shaking his head. “That seems a little underhanded,” he said.

Val shot him a withering glance. “They’re hobgoblins,” he said, flatly. “You’re really worried about betraying them? Who cares? I don’t give a shit about this war; it doesn’t matter who wins, as long as we can get to the elevator and get out of these damned caves.”

That was fair. Tam couldn’t argue with his logic this time.

Redrick spread the maps out on the ground again. “We’re entering through the sewer,” he said. “So from there, we’ll have to head up through the floors and get to the elevator…”

“Can we stop at the Arcane Forge?” Val broke in. “I – listen, I know we don’t have a smith with us, but maybe there will be something left behind…”

Redrick sighed. “If it’s not too far off our path.”

“Yesss,” Val said, grinning.

Glutton’s teeth was likely to be riddled with traps and tricks, set up not only by the drow but by any goblinoids who’d managed to get in so far. Beyond that… it was mostly a mystery, but it was one they’d have to solve while they were in it.

They packed the camp up, scuffed the fire out, and loaded their gear away. “Put on the face and the wings, Manny,” Val said, grinning. “And the chains, you two. We’re going to Glutton’s Teeth.”


	14. Glutton's Teeth

The rangers vanished. Val and Manny led Tam and Alfo around the edge of the army, close enough to be seen but far enough to be out of reach. One goblin tried to edge a little closer, and with a hiss Val snapped his fingers and a sharp crack rang out from in front of the goblin’s nose. It screeched and scuttled away.

Beyond the camp, out of sight again, they removed the chains and stowed them. Shadow was with them this time, stalking at Alfo’s heels, and the rangers materialized out of the darkness to accompany them.

Leading into the great wall of Glutton’s Teeth was a small, tepid drainage stream, stinking slightly and emitting a faint, curling steam. Tam looked up at the stone pillars – the Teeth that the fortress was named for – and stopped half-way through a step, staring. They weren’t just dark rock – they were dripping with some kind of black slime that puddled on the ground, oozing outwards from the stone.

“Look,” he said, and pointed.

Val skipped sideways to avoid some of it on the ground as he noticed. “Oh,” he said, “that’s disgusting. What the hell is it?”

“I don’t know,” Redrick murmured, also looking up. “Could be some kind of –“

Some of the slime twitched and moved, shutting him up. As everyone watched a smooth, pointed shape emerged from the slime and the surface of the stone, pulling itself out of the ooze and in fact out of the rock beneath. That leg was followed by another, and another, and more until eight of them were holding onto the stone.

The legs spasmed in unison and heaved a dark, inky body out of the slime. It came forth with a sucking sound and strings of black slime that clung to the rock, stretching between the spider and the stone.

It was easily the size of Val, who was currently backing up, eyes wide.

“That’s bad,” he said, “and also, fucking nasty.”

Tam had to agree – it wasn’t a natural spider, like his friends. There was something wrong about it, something horrible. It wasn’t even a spider. It was darkness in the form of a spider.

It attacked.

The group scattered, Val pulling his rapier with a yelp and Redrick drawing his sword with a cry. Clotilde wrenched her greatsword off her back and Everett frantically stepped back and tried to string his bow while Manny lowered his gaze at the creature and hissed and Alfo pulled his axe out of his belt, grumbling.

In retrospect, perhaps it hadn’t been a good idea on the spider’s behalf to attack alone. It was mere moments before it fell underneath the collected blows of the group, though the slime stuck to everyone’s blades in viscous strands.

“Horrible,” Val muttered, as he wrenched his rapier from the spider’s corpse, looping mucus-like strings dripping from the blade. “This is horrible.”

No one disagreed.

They followed the drainage stream. Where it met the wall, a set of thick metal bars blocked their path.

“Hm,” Val said, staring at it.

“I’ll look ahead,” Tam said, and before anyone could argue, he dropped into a swarm of rats and poured into the tunnel.

It was definitely large enough for one person, but the water that flowed through here was not water. It was acid, which he found out, because a few of his rats swarmed into it and immediately recoiled, screeching in pain. He made sure to climb on the sides and roof of the tunnel after that.

Unfortunate, and important for his report to the rest of the Guard. Tam moved on, scurrying up the tunnel. Ahead he spotted a break in the stone leading in from one side – a secondary tunnel.

What was this? He flowed up into it, sniffing out the path, and found that it ran upwards at an angle and through a grate into what seemed to be some kind of prison cell. There were a few bodies in here, but nothing special.

Tam turned and went back down the tunnel. This would do for their entryway into the fortress. He scurried along the stones and out through the grate then reformed as himself and stood up from the seething pile of rats.

“Huh,” said Manny, who had never seen Tam do this before. He nodded slowly, staring. “Okay.”

“The tunnel is not long,” Tam reported. “There’s a cell we can get into. The water is acid.”

“Hm,” Val said. “How bad?”

“Slightly.”

“Hm.” Val kicked a nearby pebble into the drainage stew; it plunked in and disappeared. “…don’t really know what I expected from that,” he muttered, after a moment.

“The bars are a problem,” Alfo said, gesturing towards the grate. “Gotta get ‘em off.”

“Or bend them out of the way,” Val murmured, stepping closer to look.

“I can do it,” Alfo said, and brushed past him to clomp up to the sewer grate. He looked over the aging metal, snorted, and grabbed hold of the bars.

“What are you –“ Val started, and then Alfo pulled back with a grunt and wrenched the entire grate out of its housing. The mortar around the edges crumbled and it fell free; Alfo stepped back and let it splash down into the acid.

“Oh,” Val said.

“That’s one way to do it,” Manny said, straight-faced. “And the acid?”

Alfo shrugged and kicked at the water with his boot. “Probably fine,” he said, and stepped into it, walking into the tunnel.

“I guess we’re going now,” Val said, and darted in. He had to duck to avoid thwacking his head on the top stones.

The only issue was making sure Shadow wasn’t harmed by the acid. Alfo eventually just picked her up and carried her, only setting her down when it was dry. They sloshed through the tunnel – the rangers following last – and found Tam’s drainage pipe. “It’s grated at the top,” Val called back.

“Let me go,” Alfo sighed, and made his way up the tunnel, letting Shadow follow him. Tam heard him grunt a few times, then abruptly heard the scrape of metal on stone and the clang as something – the drainage grate – was punched out of the way and clattered down.

“Safe,” Alfo called, and Val was next up the tunnel, spidering his way up the slope with ease. The rest of the group followed.

The cell they were in was cramped when they all emerged into it; Tam had to press himself against the wall, knocking into one of the corpses as he did so. He found himself blinking in the total darkness until Manny held up a hand and a blossom of orange flame grew in his open palm, shedding a harmless light around the chamber.

“I’ll get this door open,” Val said, squeezing past Redrick and making his way to the cell. “It’ll just be a moment.”

Tam moved, again bonking his staff into the corpse at his side.

_No. Wait. Look at it._

He glanced down, and after a long moment managed to catch the rise and fall of air in the body. This person wasn’t dead.

It was a white dragonborn, fairly aged, and he was absolutely emaciated. Tam pushed Manny aside and knelt next to the prisoner, pulling his emergency goodberries from their pouch immediately.

Tam pried the dragonborn’s snout open and dropped a goodberry between his fangs, tipping his head up so he could swallow it. After a few moments he saw the dragonborn’s throat work on it, and then he gasped and opened his eyes.

“Take,” Tam instructed, pressing another berry into his hand. By this time, the others in the cell had begun to notice.

“Oi,” Val called, looking over as he reached his arm through the bars to fiddle with the lock, “what is, uh, going on over there?”

“He’s alive,” Redrick said, eyes wide, as he knelt next to Tam.

The dragonborn coughed once and Redrick immediately unslung his water-pouch from his bag and handed it over.

Goodberries gave the dragonborn enough strength to raise the pouch and drink, gulping down a fair amount of the water before lowering it and holding it out for Redrick, who gently took it from his trembling claws.

Looking around, he said something in Draconic, his voice rasping and slightly breathy. Tam didn’t know the words, but he did recognize the grating sounds of the magical tongue for the language they were. Val’s head whipped around when he heard it.

“Hey!” he said, and with a final click the lock of the cell door came undone and Val pulled his lockpicks out with a flourish. He twisted the handle and bumped the door with his hip, knocking it open. Everett and Clotilde immediately stepped out and headed down the hallway to scout in either direction while Val slipped around Redrick’s armored bulk and crouched down next to the dragonborn.

He said something Tam couldn’t understand, in Draconic, and the dragonborn took a labored breath and responded in kind.

“Yeah, Common’ll be better for this lot,” Val said after a moment.

“Ah,” the dragonborn said, and cleared his throat. “I’ll have to… remember the language.”

“Sure, sure,” Val said. “Who are you? What are you doing down here?”

“My name is Rhoskan,” the dragonborn began, blinking his gray eyes a few times against the light of Manny’s little flame.

“How’d you end up here?”

“I was captured,” Rhoskan said, “when Ewlbkhan took over the fortress.”

“Ewlbkhan?”

“The dragon,” Manny said, helpfully.

“Right.”

“He’s kept me down here since he took me,” Rhoskan said, shaking his head. “When he attacked, he broke many of the more intricate workings of the fortress, including the elevator.”

The elevator. The one we need to get back to the surface.

“Ah, fuck,” Val said, pulling his head back. “We need that.”

“It can be fixed,” Rhoskan said hurriedly, glancing between the party members. “It’s not destroyed, just deactivated. I… I could fix it, if I had my tools.”

“What? You?” Val narrowed his eyes. “How? Who are you, really?”

_An interesting question, and one he may not answer truthfully._

“I am – I _was_ the smith of the Arcane Forge,” Rhoskan said, and sighed. “But I’m not anymore.”

Val’s eyes lit up. “Were we to, perhaps, get you to the Forge,” he said, “do you think you could make something for us?”

“…possibly?” Rhoskan cleared his throat again, but his voice remained rough. “My current state is… well, my kind are quite tough, so I’ll recover.”

“Ah, right,” Val said. “Health first and all that.”

Rhoskan nodded. “If you keep me safe, I can get my tools and repair the elevator,” he said, “though it will take…. quite a while to do so.”

“What’s ‘quite a while’ mean, exactly?” Val said, narrowing his eyes.

“A few hours,” Rhoskan said.

“That’s going to be difficult, what with the drow and all,” Val muttered, frowning. “And we don’t know where the Forge is. It wasn’t marked on any of our maps.”

“I know,” Rhoskan said, raising one clawed hand. It was already steady. “I can mark it for you.”

“Do that,” Val said, standing and stepping back. “I’m going to go find a way out of this disgusting dungeon. The faster I can get somewhere that gets this stink off my clothes, the better.”

Tam dug through his bag and pulled out the maps, dislodging several disgruntled spiders as he did so. He pulled his pencils out at the same time, handing them over to Rhoskan as Val disappeared around the corner.

Rhoskan squinted at the maps, shuffling through them and sitting forwards to lay them on a dry portion of the ground. “This is the floor above us,” he murmured, pointing. “That’s where it is.”

Carefully he began to add a doorway and a chamber to the map, sketching them in in a previously empty square.

“How long have you been down here?” Redrick asked, shaking his head. “Ewlbkhan had sway over the Underdark for quite some time.”

“Sixty-two years,” Rhoskan said, without looking up. “It’s been that long since I touched the Forge. But I haven’t forgotten how to wield that hammer.”

Redrick sucked in a breath. “That’s a while, yes,” he said, nodding slowly.

“Is it?” Manny said, glancing over.

“Generally, yes.”

There was a noise in the hallway, and everyone looked up. It was Val, stumbling through the dark, mask down. He flipped it up when he reached the cell, grabbing onto the bars and panting for breath.

The edges of his clothes were charred, and Tam could see the splashes of red across his skin where he’d been burned by something. They even reached onto his neck and scraped across his pale throat. “That was the elevator shaft,” he managed hoarsely, flipping his mask up. He looked genuinely afraid. “We’re not going that way. There’s some sort of hellish fire barrier, and it, um… sort of lashed out at me.” He let go of the bar and hissed, looking at his right palm – it had been burned as well, badly, and he’d left a scrap of skin behind on the cold iron.

_We’re not going that way. He nearly died._

Tam frowned, searching Val’s face. The others began to confer quietly, and Val hesitated for a breath, then glanced over to him. His expression was more frightened than Tam had seen it since the wight had gotten him back at the start of their journey.

“I’m alright,” he said faintly, giving Tam a weak smile. He ran his unburnt hand through his hair, smoothing it back on his head. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

Foolish. Tam would have to keep a closer eye on him in the future. If he wandered off and got himself killed…

That wasn’t supposed to happen. He would not let it happen.

Val shook his burned hand and sighed. “Hey,” he said, drawing everyone’s attention. “We should get moving. No time like the present, yeah?”

“Val, are you alright?” Redrick asked, genuinely concerned.

Val waved a hand, hiding his grimace as the cold air stung the burn. “I’m fine,” he said. “We need to keep going. We’ve barely even started!”

The group gathered their things. Rhoskan seemed unsteady, but stable enough to move around, which was a dramatic improvement from earlier. Val deliberately turned away from the hallway end that led towards the wall of fire and started down the other direction, pulling his cloak tighter around him.

_He’s too frightened to leave the group behind now._

Fine. That was good – if he were hurt again, they’d be able to help him immediately.

They headed down the hallway. Everett and Clotilde had returned; they’d only scouted a little ways down, not as far as Val had gone.

“Perhaps you all should go ahead and make sure the way is clear,” Rhoskan said, to Val. “Once it is, bring me. I’ll only slow you down in a fight.”

“Fair enough,” Val said, with a shrug. “But we’re not going to leave you alone down here. It’s dangerous, and all that.”

“We can stay with him,” Redrick offered, and the rangers settled in around Rhoskan.

Before they left, Rhoskan pointed out a location on the map that Tam didn’t particularly care for, but Val took a great interest in: Ewlbkhan’s hoard, lying unclaimed in the depths of the castle.

“…the entire hoard?”

“Yes.”

Val whistled softly. “We’re getting that.”

They headed through the dark halls – Tam saw with the aid of Manny’s flames – in a small, close group, vigilant for attack.

And attack did come – in the form of screeching kobolds, leaping out at them from every angle. Val swore loudly several times as he grabbed for his harp, then yelped as his burnt fingers caught on the strings. Alfo drew his axe and Shadow leaped forwards, growling.

Val’s harp-notes rang out in the hallway, and Tam glanced over to see him gritting his teeth as he played. That greenish fog began to swirl up from the ground again. “Hold your DAMN breath this time,” Val shouted, as Alfo charged into the cloud again.

The entire battle was shrouded in that green fog. From what Tam could see, there were flashes of red light, and silver weapons, and – at the end – a burst of what looked like sand from kobold-level.

“Are we good?” Val asked, into the cloud.

There was a moment of silence, and then Alfo’s voice, grating and triumphant. “Yeah.”

“Great.” Val sighed. As he did, the greenish fog evaporated into nothing, revealing several dead kobolds, one of which was being ripped apart by Shadow. Val shook his head and rolled his eyes. “I suppose we should clear the room, then we’ll go. There could be something useful here.”

They searched the entire room. Tam declined to do any of it himself – he wanted none of the pitiful treasures of the dead – but Alfo managed to kick open a locked chest and found a piece of paper inside.

It was blank. “What d’you suppose that’s for?” he said, frowning at it.

“No idea,” Val said, staring at it. “Strange.”

“Why keep a blank paper?” Manny asked.

“Probably has invisible writing on it,” Val said, with a shrug. Everyone looked to him as he adjusted his sword. “What? It’s true.”

“It could be poisonous,” Tam said, mildly. “The ink.”

“Don’t suppose we should find out.”

“We could lick it,” Tam suggested. “Then you’ll find out for sure.”

Val paused. “Hm,” he said. “And I thought I had all the bad ideas.”

“I can’t get poisoned,” Manny said suddenly. “I can lick it all I want.”

“I’m so happy for you,” Val muttered.

“Wouldn’t be useful,” Alfo pointed out.

“Ah.”

From there they headed towards a location on the map marked “Chapel.” Alfo, particularly, seemed interested in the location.

“Why?” Val asked.

“This was a dwarven fortress in the beginning,” Alfo said, scanning the hallway ahead of them as they went. “If there’s anything of Ulaa left in there, I need to save it.”

“I don’t understand, but that’s alright,” Val said, nodding firmly.

It didn’t take long. They went up what seemed like a half-flight of stairs and suddenly it was there, tall doors opening in the middle of the wall. Without hesitation Alfo pushed the doors open and stepped in.


	15. Harvest

The rest of them followed. Tam was immediately on edge – something about the room felt wrong. Off. Unnatural.

Unnatural…

It took him a few moments to see the figure standing still and silent behind the ruined and rotted pulpit. As he did, he stopped moving, and that’s when everyone else saw it, because it turned around.

It was a tall figure, cloaked in tattered gray. It bore a mask, wood, unpainted and expressionless. In one hand – butt end resting on the floor and tip reaching above the figure’s head – was a long, smooth-handled scythe, the blade black and wickedly curved.

“Greetings,” it said, and the voice that thrummed from the mask was oddly real. “I am the Harvester.”

“…okay,” Val said.

“Have you come to bring me tribute?”

Val frantically looked to the rest of the group. “Uh,” he hissed, “what the hell?”

Manny glanced up to the figure. “Do you know him?” he said, raising one eyebrow.

“No!”

“How dare you,” Alfo growled, hefting his axe. At his side, Shadow growled, fur standing on end.

“You have no tribute?” The Harvester said, tilting its head to the side.

“…no,” Val finally said, throwing a worried glance in Tam’s direction. “We’re not giving you any tribute.”

“Unfortunate,” the Harvester said, and raised its free hand. The doors to the chapel slammed shut and Tam heard them lock.

As the Harvester moved, grubs fell from its sleeves, plopping onto the floor and wriggling there. There was a faint hint of squirming, writhing movement underneath the edges of its cloak, around its mask.

“Fuck,” Val said, and then the Harvester swept both hands back and two pinpricks of shadow appeared on the walls and blossomed into spiraling, black-purple portals, spinning and hissing. From each one leapt a shining creature.

They were shaped vaguely like dogs, but every single part of them was a shimmering metallic silver. Their legs ended in sharp points, and they click-clacked when they hit the chapel floor and squirmed disturbingly.

 _“Fuck,”_ Val said, this time with feeling, and he leaped backwards and bit down on his lip as he plucked a melody on his harp. It wasn’t one Tam had heard before. When he glanced over, he saw hints of red staining the silver metal strands.

It did the trick. The Harvester glanced over at him, curious, and then the chandelier in the center of the room – hanging from the vaulted ceiling – suddenly burst into brilliant daylight. The Harvester actually screamed, an unnerving high-pitched wail, and then the metallic creatures were coming at them.

Tam scrambled backwards and raised his staff. On the tip of it, a scorpion clung to the wood, and he thought and sent a burst of power through the staff and shook the scorpion off.

It had worked before, and it would work again. The arachnid suddenly grew in size until it was larger than a horse, dominating the room. It scuttled forwards and intercepted one of the silvery beasts with a crunching claw just as it lashed out with an unexpectedly long tongue and wrapped it around Alfo’s midsection.

The Harvester moved back a step, watching carefully. It seemed to be conflicted about what to do.

_How can you know that? How can you know what it thinks? There is no face…_

At the same time, Val darted forwards with his rapier. It flashed out and stabbed into the first beast; the second one stalked forwards, slowly.

“Hey,” Manny said, and stepped forwards. He raised one hand and glared at the Harvester. “No.”

The Harvester suddenly stopped moving. Tam blinked – there was a faint, dusty-brown haze surrounding it, holding it in place. It hissed, but the sound - doubled, tripled, layered over itself, as if from many mouths instead of one - was forced, shuddering.

The second blade-beast scuttled forwards, clicking, and leaped at Manny. He didn’t move – he didn’t seem to be frightened of it – but as soon as it got close enough he extended his hand and touched it against the blade-beast’s hide. A crack of miniature lightning echoed through the room, and the beast yelped, then turned and ran, leaping back towards the portal. The Harvester hissed, and this time, it sounded afraid.

The blade beast lashed out with that tongue again, and this time, it wrapped it around the Harvester. Tam blinked, puzzled, and then realized that the beast was dragging the Harvester with it.

“No,” Manny growled, glaring. He narrowed his eyes, and the mist seemed to coalesce thicker. But the Harvester was still moving.

The only one with a weapon who wasn’t occupied was him. He strode forwards, faster than the beast could drag the Harvester, and lashed out with the staff.

The beast pulled it just a tad too far for Tam’s strike to reach. He tried again, swiping with the ground end of the staff, and – just as the beast leapt into the swirling portal, he connected with the Harvester’s head.

The mask came loose, then fell, clattering to the ground. Tam’s attention wasn’t on it. It was on the Harvester itself.

It raised its head, dead-eyed, and stared Tam in the face.

He was staring himself in the face.

The Harvester had his face.

He lurched backwards. The Harvester vanished into the portal, and just like that, both of the portals collapsed in on themselves and vanished.

The remaining blade-beast howled as Tam’s scorpion crunched its sharp body in half. Its body thrashed several times, then dissolved into a black puddle.

The scorpion chittered, but there were no more threats. Tam stared at the spot on the wall where the portal had vanished.

The Harvester was him.

How? Why? What did it mean?

“Tam?” Val called, from beside the puddle of shadow. “You alright over there?”

Tam didn’t answer. He leaned down and picked up the wooden mask. It had specks of paint on it, and he recognized the colors – it was his mask. But… it was different. Rotting. A bulbous grub was stuck to the interior; as Tam shook the mask, the grub fell off and splatted to the ground, where it lay, wriggling occasionally.

The mist inside the chapel began to dissipate. It curled in on itself, and as it did, the daylight from the chandelier bathed the entire room in a warm glow. Alfo was on one knee, staring blankly at the puddle of shadow; he began to mumble softly to himself.

Tam put the mask back on the ground. It wasn’t his. He didn’t want it.

It spoke to him, softly.

_That scythe. That’s a weapon you could kill with. Not the staff. The scythe. You could draw blood. You could draw so much blood._

No. He shook his head. _No._

The scorpion came over and bumped against his side. He touched it and watched as it popped back to its original size; he bent down and let it scuttle onto his outstretched palm, slipping it back inside his cloak.

Something caught his attention again – something dark, lying on the ground near the pulpit next to a scattering of dead maggots. It was a dark book, bound. Tam reached out and picked it up.

It was fastened with a thick leather strap and a buckle of dark iron. He undid the fastening and opened it.

The pages were filled with scrawlings in what… could be a language. But the symbols made no sense, scratched and wrong, and they couldn’t turn into sounds in Tam’s mind. Looking at them made his head swim.

He shut the book.

_That’s not for you._

He stepped down off the raised alter-section of the chapel and hurried back to the group. “Here,” he said, and laid the journal on a pew. It was for someone else.

Alfo looked over to it, then did a double take, eyes catching on the deep blue leather. He reached out and opened it.

The letters of that strange language reflected in his eyes, but he seemed to be able to comprehend them, somehow. “Oh,” he said, reading it.

“This is not mine,” Tam said. “It belonged to the Harvester.”

“It’s mine,” Alfo said.

“If you wish.”

“No. It’s mine,” Alfo repeated, staring at the contents of the book. Tam decided not to press the matter further, and Alfo did not elaborate.

“Alright,” Val said, “that… was fucking awful. Can we get this dragon’s hoard and move on?”

Alfo coughed into his fist. “I… want to stay here,” he said. “For now. You go.”

“You sure? Don’t want to comb through this with us?”

“I’m sure.” Alfo shook his head. “I want to stay here. I’ll go with you when you come back.”

Val nodded. “Alright,” he said. “Well… take your time.”

Val, Tam, and Manny left the chapel behind and followed the map. Val was limping a bit, but seemed absolutely determined to get Ewlbkhan’s hoard before anyone else did.

“Someone might’ve already snatched it up,” he muttered, as they hurried through the hallway towards the spot Rhoskan had marked on their map. “Every second counts.”

Someone had not already snatched it up. They emerged into a vast chamber, one that reached far past the range of Manny’s little flame, and Val flipped his mask down and gasped in pure delight.

There was a literal mountain of gold before them, gleaming coins and gemstones peppered through with artifacts. Val did not hesitate.

“Holy shit,” he called, darting forwards. “Holy – look at all this stuff!”

That was the next two hours of Tam’s life. The pile of coins wasn’t truly mountainous, but Val insisted on counting every single coin, tallying them all, recording how much money they were dumping into the Bag of Holding that he'd purchased a while back. Manny helped, providing tiny dancing lights that hung flickering in the air, casting a warm, comforting glow over the hoard.

Val’s favorite find, however, was not any of the artifacts they discovered, or the money or gems they shoveled into the bag. No, it came in the form of the smooth white bar of metal Val found tossed off to the side of the room.

“What’s this?” he called, and picked it up. Immediately he gasped, looking up.

“What is it?” Tam asked, humoring him.

“This is mithril,” Val breathed. “And it’s enchanted. Look at that shimmer! Look at it!”

Manny stepped over. “Very nice,” he said, stoically.

Val grinned. “And Alfo promised I could have the next magic ingot we got. And we have Rhoskan. I’m getting a new weapon.”


	16. The Arcane Forge

When they returned to the chapel, Tam was surprised to find that Alfo had cleaned up a bit of the ruined wood pews and scattered stone and glass. He was sitting peacefully against the pulpit, with Shadow curled up and dozing at his feet.

The chapel was safe now. That much was obvious. Tam no longer felt that unnatural darkness, the one he had felt when they first walked in. He had no complaints about resting there – it was late, midnight, and they needed some rest.

Hopefully the rangers would be alright with Rhoskan.

When they awoke, Alfo seemed to be more himself, fondly ruffling Shadow’s fur while he waited for everyone to be up and about. Val had painstakingly healed himself before they slept – wincing as he plucked out the soft melody that leached the heat from his burns and smoothed the skin on his fingers back over. Now everyone seemed to be mostly themselves.

Tam glanced over to where the wooden mask had lain on the stone. It was gone.

He didn’t know where it was. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want it.

_Keep it away. Safe and hidden._

_Away from him._

But who was he talking about? The Harvester, or –

“Hey! Tam!” Val waved a hand in front of his face and he blinked, focusing on his cousin.

“What,” he said.

“We’re moving on out. Come on.”

They left the chapel behind, Alfo gently closing the doors and pausing for a moment before stepping away. They made it three steps before there was a sudden and momentous crash from somewhere above, and outside, and a few seconds later they felt the stone around them tremble.

“Uh,” Val said, and swallowed nervously.

“Oh. The hobgoblins must be getting impatient,” Manny said, casually. “They might have realized we betrayed them by now.”

“Yeah, and I don’t think that particular gimmick is going to work twice,” Val muttered. “We’d best get going.”

Up the other half of the flight of stairs, after it bent back on itself, and there was an open doorway to the left. Val whisked his cloak around himself and crept forwards, half-invisible in the darkness, and vanished to check what was beyond.

He came back mere moments later. “Just a load of kobolds,” he hissed, quietly. “They don’t know we’re here.”

“Let’s kill them,” Manny said, and the fire in his palm flicked up a little higher.

Val opened his mouth, then stopped, considering it. The firelight reflected off the smooth glass of the eyes of his mask.

_Let him._

“Yeah, alright,” he said, grinning. “Why not? Don't want them coming up after us.”

Manny stepped forwards. “I’ll handle it,” he said, strode quietly into the hallway, Val at his side.

Tam stayed behind.

“There they go,” Alfo said, watching them. “Do you think they’ll do it?”

“Probably,” Tam said.

From beyond, there was a brilliant flash of flame and an explosion. In the blast Tam could hear the screech of kobold voices, and then nothing.

Manny and Val popped back seconds later, Val grinning. “They never saw it coming,” he said, gleeful.

_He finds joy in this. You do too._

Not like that, Tam thought.

_That delight in slaughter. He is not good._

“Also, there’s a well back there,” Val continued. “In case you want some water.”

Just beyond this alcove was their secondary goal – a tall, dark metal door that Tam instantly knew was the housing of the Forge. He could feel the low hum of power emanating from within.

“Is that,” Val started, and Tam nodded.

“Yes.”

“We’d better go and get Rhoskan.”

They headed back to the prison, down past everything. Val called a soft warning into the hallway to let the rangers know it was them before they walked in, which was smart; Everett had his bow strung and an arrow in his fingers when they got close enough to see him.

“We’ve found the Forge,” Val said, eyes glittering. “And the dragon hoard. Don’t worry, I’ve written down exactly how much of it you get for helping us through here.” He nodded to the rangers.

“Thank you for that,” Redrick said, inclining his head. “Do you mind if I check your numbers?”

“Not at all, but maybe not right now, at this very moment?”

“Fair.”

Rhoskan looked up at them. “You’ve really gotten to my Forge?” he said. His voice was much clearer now, though it still betrayed his age; he sounded hesitant and hopeful.

“Yeah,” Val said. “It wasn’t that hard, honestly. But you were chained up and couldn’t do it. We didn’t try to get in.”

“Smart of you,” Rhoskan said, nodding. “It’s defended.”

“Ah.” Val swallowed. “Very lucky, then, that we didn’t try to break the door in.”

The rangers broke camp and packed everything up. Rhoskan was easily able to move about now, and he seemed caught between a nervous longing and an immovable patience.

The Night Guard surrounded him as they walked, with the rangers as a rear guard. No attacks came this time – the Guard had cleared the way.

When they made it up to the door, Rhoskan let out a soft breath and reached up, putting his hand on the metal. “It’s been quite a while,” he murmured, and then Val handed him the key Finn had given them and he rubbed in between his fingers and held it up to the door.

Tam hadn’t even seen the keyhole on the door before, but it was certainly there now. Rhoskan inserted the key and turned it; the doors hissed slightly, then moved out and opened to the sides, not swinging on hinges but sliding apart.

The interior of the forge was massive, and much more interesting than Tam had expected it would be. It was no simple blacksmith’s chambers – it was a high-roofed cavern, wide open in the center but with smaller alcoves poking out of it. Tam wondered how this place fit into the layout of the castle; it looked enormous.

The most notable feature was the curtain of molten magma that was flowing down one vertical rock face and disappearing beyond the floor. A prong of stone stuck out through the curtain in one place, and the lava flowed down it and poured off the tip, dripping in a thin, brilliantly glowing strand down into a rock trough that wound past an huge anvil that seemed to have sunken partially into the stone.

Next to that, there was a natural stream. Each of these ran out of the room in their own drainage troughs, but part of the stream pooled into a deep basin that a smith could use to quench their artifacts.

Rhoskan breathed in, closing his eyes for a moment. It was extraordinarily dry in here, and Tam couldn’t find any enjoyment in the smell of magma, but Rhoskan opened his eyes after a moment and smiled.

“Smells like home,” he said, and then – as everyone had stepped in – pounded one fist on the metal door. It slid shut, sealing them in. “Let’s get to work.”

“Question,” Val said, sounding a little nervous. “What do we do about that?”

“Hmm?”

“That.”

Val pointed with his blade, every part of his body tense. Tam glanced over.

There was something at the side of the room, hulking in the darkness. Tam couldn’t see it clearly.

“Ah,” Rhoskan said, after a moment. “That… was my security.”

“And what exactly is it?” Val demanded, voice going a little higher than normal.

“Oh, a golem,” Manny said, identifying it. “Neat.”

“It’s a golem,” Rhoskan said, ignoring him. “I made it…. a very long time ago. Before Ewlbkhan. Before any of that. It’s still mine, but…” He lowered his gaze, frowning at the floor. “I lost control of it before I was… removed from the forge. I shut it down, but when I start the Forge up, it’s going to go wild.”

“You could have mentioned this earlier,” Redrick said, after a long silence.

“I forgot,” Rhoskan said, slumping.

“Well, that’s alright,” Val said unexpectedly. “I’ll drop my little dome, little shield, and we’ll be safe in there. For eight hours.”

“It’s linked to the Forge,” Manny mused, staring up at the golem. Tam still couldn’t see it in its entirety, but he could make out the general shape of it, and it was massive. Two building stories? Three? He measured in trees, not structures. “Can you make it not go wild? Can you regain control?”

“Most likely, yes, but I’d have to have access to the golem’s control panel to do so,” Rhoskan said. “It wouldn’t be difficult, either.”

Val glanced over at Manny, then at Alfo, and finally to Tam and back at the rangers. “Well,” he said, “I think a golem would be quite a nice bit of protection. What do you need to do to… fix it?”

“Reprogram,” Rhoskan corrected gently. “And I just have to put in a new control plate. The old one is broken.”

“Oh, that’s not hard at all.”

“Why did you say that?” Tam muttered, shaking his head.

“It’ll be hard when the golem is moving,” Rhoskan said. “I have to start the Forge to finish the plate.”

“…ah.”

“Again,” Manny said, “that doesn’t sound that difficult.”

“Please stop saying that,” Tam sighed.

Rhoskan looked them over. “You say it’s easy,” he said. “We’ll see how you feel in a little bit about that. I don’t think you’ll like it.”

* * *

 

“I hate this,” Val announced, standing on the other side of Rhoskan’s anvil with his hands pressed against the side.

“I told you,” Rhoskan said.

“He did warn us,” Manny agreed, standing next to Val with his hands also pressed against the metal.

They were underneath the small dome that Val could create, the invincible one. The rangers were standing by, as was Tam. Alfo was outside of the dome.

Rhoskan had explained this to them all, and, frankly, Tam was a little bit worried.

The Forge needed power. But this was the first time it had been used in half a century – it wasn’t ready. But they needed to power it up fast. Which means a mage had to dump power into it.

Not a druid, like Tam. Someone with arcane power… which meant Manny, and Val. They needed to pour their magic into the Forge to jump-start it, and then Rhoskan could craft the new control plate and they could give it to Alfo to replace in the golem.

Alfo was the strongest of any of them, and he had experience fighting large creatures. He was the best choice for clinging to the back of a furious golem, trying to rip its control panel out and put in a new one.

Val took a breath. “Alright. Alright. I’m ready. I guess. I suppose?”

“Calm down,” Alfo snorted, from outside the dome. “You’ll live.”

“Will I, though?”

“Probably.” Alfo turned and headed across the room. Shadow, who had been instructed to stay with the rest of the Guard, whined softly and lay down.

They waited while he vanished into the shadows. After a few moments they all heard him clang his way up the golem, then call, “Ready.”

Rhoskan lifted the hammer. “The thing about the Forge,” he said, hefting it in one clawed hand, “is that it’s not the Forge that makes it unique.”

“Oh?” said Manny, because it was clear someone had to respond somehow.

“It’s the hammer,” Rhoskan said, and pressed a button with his thumb next to the hammer’s head.

A shimmer of golden light passed over the hammer, and suddenly it was not a blacksmith’s mallet but a brilliant, deep golden-black hammer, the handle encrusted with jewels. The same shimmer passed over the anvil, and swept over the room – the magma flow acquired a radiant shine, the water a deep sparkle, the stone a smooth iridescence.

“Holy fucking shit,” Val said, eyes wide.

“I need some power,” Rhoskan said, quietly, focusing on the anvil. He brought up a copper plate from where it had been leaning against the base of the metal and dunked it straight into the magma.

“I’ll go first,” Manny said quickly, and without even moving he gathered his power and dumped it into the Forge. It glowed with a dull orange light, the color of Manny’s eyes.

The golem, on the other side of the room, began to move.

“Here it comes,” Manny said.

It charged over, completely unaware of Alfo on its back, and lifted the largest hammer Tam had ever seen. It brought it down at full force on the dome, bellowing, and Tam flinched – but the metal slid off the pearly dome.

“Oh, thank the gods that worked,” Val said faintly.

“More power,” Rhoskan said, as he pulled the plate from the magma and immediately began to hammer on it. Fragments of black powder dropped off it with every strike; the magma somehow hadn’t clung to it when he’d pulled it from the stream.

Val nodded. “My turn,” he said, and closed his eyes. Tam watched him carefully as he gathered his magic, as if he were casting a spell, and then sort of shoved it at the Forge. The Forge in turn reached out and devoured it. The orange surrounding it deepened, colored with red, and shone with hints of brilliant gold.

Val’s eyes popped open. “Oh,” he said, staring down at the Forge in fear.

Rhoskan did not pay attention. The golem – which Tam could now clearly see was in the shape of a horrendously large minotaur – kept hammering on the dome, not intelligent enough to realize it wasn’t working. Each time its hammer connected with the dome, it made a strange, muffled plunking sound, like dropping large rock into water.

“Surge,” he’d say, occasionally, and either Manny or Val would send a burst of power into the Forge.  This seemed to go on for far longer than it probably actually took; Tam felt useless, standing there, with no way to assist. Nothing to do but watch.

_He’ll overexert himself. You know he will. He’s a fool._

Yes, but there wasn’t much Tam could do about it now. Warn him about pacing? He’d roll his eyes at such things.

Finally, Rhoskan lifted the plate. “I think –“ he started, and then there was another explosion from somewhere outside, and the entire place shook.

Rhoskan lost his grip on the tongs. The plate fell, dropping into the magma stream; he lunged over the anvil and scooped them up, eyes wide.

Redrick was watching, eyes wide. “Don’t know how much longer Alfo can hold on there,” he said.

“Trying to hurry,” Rhoskan said, snorting through his nose. “Surge.”

Manny glanced over. “I’m out,” he said.

“Got it,” Val murmured, and sent his magic in.

“Sustain that,” Rhoskan said.

“What?!”

“Keep it going.”

“I –“ Val paused and swallowed, eyes flicking up to Tam’s face. “Okay,” he managed, after a moment.

Rhoskan brought the hammer down, fixing the bits of slag in the pattern that were falling out of shape. Val hissed under his breath and narrowed his eyes.

“Don’t have much to go,” Val managed, and heaved in a breath, eyes squeezed shut.

“Nearly done,” Rhoskan said, patiently, and brought the hammer down twice more before inspecting the plate, nodding, and dunking it into the water. He pulled it out after a few seconds and a cloud of steam and took a breath, then blew cold air over its surface. “You’re free.”

Val took his hands off the anvil, took a breath, and collapsed. Manny managed to catch him on the way down, barely, just quick enough to keep him from dropping into the stream of lava that poured behind the anvil. He stared down, baffled.

_There he goes. Like you knew he would._

Rhoskan turned. “Redrick,” he said, “take this to Alfo.”

“Right.” Redrick took the plate.

“Alfo,” Rhoskan called, “pull the other plate!”

“Sure,” Alfo said, and there was a screech of metal as he wrenched part of the golem’s exoskeleton apart. Rhoskan winced, ever so slightly.

From above, Alfo threw down the old plate. It bounced off the dome and clanged onto the ground nearby, skidding over the uneven stone. The minotaur followed its movement, then realized that something was on its back.

At the same time, Redrick stepped out of the dome and threw the plate as hard as he could in Alfo’s direction, spinning it like a disk. Alfo reached out and grabbed the edge of it, then began to jam it into place where the old control plate had been.

The minotaur golem screamed again. Tam watched its face, hoping that at any second it would stop being actively hostile towards them.

Above, Alfo let out a triumphant shout, and seconds later slid down off the golem’s back and lunged through the dome, to safety.

It kept battering at the dome.

“Ah,” Everett said. “That’s a problem.”

“Hmm.” Rhoskan frowned at it. “That should have –“

The golem’s eyes, which had been glowing a deep red, slowly faded. They paled to yellow, then white, then a faint blue color. It stopped banging the hammer on the dome and lowered it to its side, going to a still, ready-for-orders position.

“Ah,” Rhoskan said, letting out a breath. “There we go.”

The rangers flew into action. Manny hauled Val’s body out from behind the anvil, and Everett knelt next to him.

“He’s fine,” Tam said, soft, but loud enough for the ranger to hear. “He just burned himself out.”

“That’s dangerous.”

“Many things are.”

“Alfo,” Redrick said, as Alfo stood from the ground where he’d thrown himself to escape the golem, “that was astounding!”

“Ah… thanks,” Alfo said, after a moment.

“We owe this to you,” Manny added, in an uncommon moment of grace. “You're quite brave to even attempt that.”

Alfo patted the side of his leg and Shadow bounded over, bumping against his side. He ruffled her fur. “It was nothing,” he said, after a minute, but underneath the beard Tam saw him smiling to himself.

Rhoskan tossed the hammer in one hand. “Now,” he said, looking extremely at ease and pleased, “some of you wanted some forging done?”


	17. Act of Creation

Rhoskan could not only create new objects, but reforge old ones into new, recycling the materials and magic through the Forge. He refused to re-forge Alfo’s Thunderang, though – when questioned, he pointed out the tiny, intricate stamp on one corner. “I made this,” he said, plaintively. “It’s good.”

“Oh!” Alfo said, peering at it. “I didn’t notice.”

“Few do,” Rhoskan sighed.

The Forge was filled, for a while after, with the clang of Rhoskan’s hammer and the hiss of the water in the barrel. Sometimes, he seemed to be weaving strands of light into what he was working; Tam had no knowledge of how forging worked, and didn’t care to learn. This wasn’t what he was supposed to be doing; he didn’t have to learn about it.

They’d confiscated artifacts from people before, and they’d found a great number of useless – to them – things in Ewlbkhan’s hoard. Rhoskan took them, and what he gave them in return…

Alfo received a belt with several pouches on it. “Pull a weapon from any pouch,” Rhoskan said. “It’ll disappear if you drop it, or bring forth a new one. What it’ll be is… completely random.” He shrugged. “It seems like a good fit for you.”

Tam pulled one of the things from Ewlbkhan’s hoard out of his bag – a bolt of dark gray wool with a faint gleam to it. Rhoskan took it and looked it over.

“Cloth,” he began, “is an interesting material to work with. But this is not an ordinary forge, built for metal and fire only. I can do it.”

He took the wool, and from it he crafted a heavy, stone-textured cloak, fabric thick and dark brownish-gray, and crackling when it moved, like granite. “Oh… that’s curious,” Rhoskan said, when he pulled it steaming and yet dry from the basin. He ran his fingers over it, murmuring to himself.

_This is important._

“I… this bears a striking similarity to…” Rhoskan paused, frowning. “But that can’t be correct.”

“To what?”

“To the Mantle of the Weald.” Rhoskan shook his head. “But that was destroyed by Bellastarix, ages ago.”

_That’s its name now, then._

“This one will have that name,” Tam said, quietly. Rhoskan glanced up, searching his face. He was silent.

Tam took the cloak from him. It felt as rough as it looked, scraping against his skin. He paused, but did not put it on.

_Not yet._

Val woke and was silent, embarrassed, for a good three minutes after sitting up. But his insatiable curiosity got the better of him eventually, and he sprang up and crept over. Rhoskan glanced over at him halfway through cleaning the anvil off. “Did you need something?” he said, sounding amused.

“Can you forge me a weapon?” Val blurted, and dug through his bag, pulling out the shimmering mithril ingot. “From this. I found it in – um, I found it in the hoard.”

Rhoskan took the ingot and looked it over reverently. “Now _this_ I can work with, oh yes,” he murmured, eyes shining. "Yes. I can, and I will."

“Hey,” Alfo protested. “That one’s better than mine.”

“You promised I could have the next one when you got that good magic steel in Forgehome!” Val called back to him. “This is the next one!”

Alfo subsided, grumbling to himself.

Rhoskan took the mithril. “I’ll make you something beautiful out of this,” he said.

It took him the better part of an hour to shape the ingot into a long, smooth blade, thin and narrow and wickedly sharp. When he finished, it was a gleaming silvery-white, with an intricate basket handle and a glittering point. Beautiful symbols were etched up and down the sides and it seemed to shine in the darkness just a bit.

“Now that’s a blade,” Rhoskan breathed, looking it up and down. He turned it around and handed it to Val – the grip was wrapped, already, in a smooth white leather – and Val took it.

“It’s light!” he exclaimed, gasping. “Light as anything…”

“It’s imbued with air,” Rhoskan explained. “Though it was already mithril, so it was already near half weightless.”

“It’s perfect.” Val stepped back, then turned towards the empty space and made a few quick jabs with the blade. As he did it seemed to hum, and Val tipped his head sharply to the side. “Rhoskan,” he said, “it’s singing. A bit.”

“So it is,” Rhoskan said.

Val ran his fingers over the metal. Worked into the blade was a hint of spring green, running around and through the white and silver, and Val tapped his fingertips on the blade and hummed something to himself.

“What will you name it?” Alfo asked.

“Windsinger,” Val said, after a moment.

“…suppose that’s as good as any name.”

They rested there, underneath Val’s dome for as long as it lasted, and then under the watchful eye of the golem. “Nothing will hurt us here,” Rhoskan assured them, with perfect confidence. “The golem will see to that.”

Tam, while the rest of the group was breaking camp, ran his fingers over the cloak, contemplating it. He didn’t know what the Mantle of the Weald was – it was a name he was unfamiliar with, but one that rang true – and he’d have to find out.

“Are we ready?” Val called, from where he’d shoved everything he’d owned into the Bag of Holding and slung it around his shoulders, underneath his cloaks.

“Right about,” Redrick replied.

“Fantastic.”

Tam stood, then swept the Mantle around him and clasped it around his throat. It was immensely heavy, and immediately he was driven to one knee as if by an unseen force. He drew in a sharp breath, catching himself on the floor; the rough stone tore at his hands.

“Tam?!” he heard Val shout, immediately.

There were whispers curling around his ears, hissing into his thoughts; he gritted his teeth against them.

 _Feed_ , the Mantle whispered. _Devour._

_No._

It hissed.

_…later._

It hummed, satisfied for now, and then Tam was shaken by another voice – loud, clear, and directly into his mind.

The voice was broken, scarred and scraped, but with an unnerving edge of smoothness to it, sharp and liquid. “The first,” it stated, “gave into bloodlust, consuming his drive to spare.”

“The second fled in fear,” said another voice, “forgetting himself in isolation.” This one was lighter but infinitely older, with a tone that could have been playful but instead came off as melancholy.

“The third was plagued by grief, losing his will to live.” This voice was noble, imperious, but tired.

The last voice was barely a hiss. “The last drowned in despair, cursing his kin to suffer ill,” it breathed, moving around Tam as if it were physically there.

There was a pause, and then the four spoke in unison, forcing Tam to close his eyes from the volume of them. The sound made his skull vibrate.

“They can all be redeemed, each confronted by the truth –  
For no matter how crooked their shadows, these heroes can still stand in the light.”

They went silent. Even the hungry whispering of the Mantle had calmed.

Tam opened his eyes and saw Val crouched in front of him, worriedly peering into his eyes. “Tam?” Val said, searching his gaze. "Are you... alright?"

“I’m fine,” Tam said. “I heard voices. They spoke.”

“...o-kay,” Val said, after a moment. “I’m guessing these weren’t our voices?”

“Obviously.”

Val’s concern was immediately erased and replaced with irritation. “I’m trying to be concerned,” he said, “but you’re capable of being snide, so you’re probably fine.”

“What did they say?” Alfo said, hurrying up to stand by Val.

Tam repeated the prophecy slowly. He glanced at the other members of the Night guard as he did so, looking for their reactions. They seemed… concerned. Val was thoughtful, frowning at the floor. Alfo looked disturbed; Manny looked faintly confused.

Eh… It was hard to read Manny.

“We should write it down,” Manny finally said. “So we don’t forget.”

“Tam won’t forget it,” Val said, shaking his head. “He remembers everything.”

_To an extent. Even you forget eventually. Write it, but not now. When you’re safe._

Tam said nothing.

Val chewed on one lip. “Who…” he said, tapping one finger on his chin. “Who would – who could those be? It’s clearly relevant to us, or it wouldn’t have –“

“We should go,” Redrick said, loudly.

Val blinked. “Oh. Right. Right! Rhoskan, can you show us the quickest way to the elevator?”

Rhoskan nodded. “Show me your map.”

As he drew it, Alfo glanced around at the forge and shook his head. “Sorry you have to leave this place,” he said.

“Oh… you’ll be losing it all, won’t you?” Manny said, frowning slightly. “That does suck.”

Rhoskan shook his head. “It’s only the volcanic magma I’ll be losing,” he said, focusing on the map as he sketched out a pathway in red (using a stub of a pencil found at the bottom of Tam’s bag). “The rest of the Forge’s magic is in the hammer. I’m taking that with me when I leave.”

“When you lea – sorry, are you taking the Arcane Forge out of the fortress?” Val said, staring.

“Yes,” Rhoskan said, “because I’m not staying down here. I’m going up the elevator too. This fortress is lost to the dwarves.”

“Don’t say that,” Alfo growled.

“Perhaps you’ll retake it someday,” Rhoskan amended, “but… not now, and not any time soon.”

There was a moment of silence. Val coughed into one hand discreetly. “We’d better go,” he said, when the others looked to him. “Chances are the hobgoblins will break it to bits, and then _no_ one will have it, least of all us. Let’s get out of here before we die, yeah?”


	18. Bargain with a Queen...

They headed out. Tam kept twitching at the weight of the Mantle on his shoulders; it was unfamiliar, and every time the rough pebbled texture scraped at his hands he snatched them away. His bugs didn’t like it at first, but began to crawl on it, and through it, in and out of the folds. Before long they found new nooks and crannies to hide in.

As they gathered the last of their things, Rhoskan pressed the button on the hammer of the Forge and that subtle, brilliant shimmer that had been coating everything since he’d activated it faded. Tam, in spite of his distaste for man-made things, was almost sad to see it go.

The dragonborn led the group back across the interior of the Forge, passing the golem as they went. Rhoskan tapped it on the knee as they went. “Stay here unless called,” he said, rubbing one thumb along the handle of the hammer.

The golem snorted and stood still.

Rhoskan touched the door with the hammer – now in the guise of an ordinary blacksmith’s hammer, dark iron – and it slid apart and open with that same hiss as before. The Night Guard and company stepped out.

The hallway beyond was clear, but they could hear fighting echoing from somewhere. Tam compared the map – which he remembered every detail of – to the layout of the castle he was seeing now and realized it was in the direction they had to go. The rest of the party exchanged glances before proceeding.

Val whisked his cloak around himself and vanished into the darkness ahead, apparently having gotten over his fear of being away from the group, at least partially. He reappeared moments later. “Hobgoblins and a troll,” he said, face serious. “The army’s made it inside the castle without our help.”

“We need to get through there,” Alfo said, shaking his head. “We can’t go around. It’ll take too long.”

“We’ll just wait for them to finish up, kill whoever is alive at the end, and go on,” Manny said, with a shrug. “That’s simple enough.”

Nobody disagreed. The Guard waited, patiently, while the shouts and screeches from the room slowly subsided.

“Probably fine now,” Val said.

The Guard entered the room. The troll was still alive, crouched in the corner with one arm clutching a battered chest to its torso, and it was being surrounded by several hobgoblins wielding swords. They fell back when the group entered, eyes wide, and Alfo didn’t hesitate before dipping one hand into one of the three pouches and coming out with a glittering maul made of clear crystal.

The troll whimpered as it slashed at Alfo, but it wasn’t swift enough to escape the blow as he brought the maul up and caught it in the head, sending it spinning and crashing to the ground. The chest fell as well, coming open when it hit the stones; a pitiful collection of coins came spilling out, rolling across the floor.

“Hey,” one of the hobgoblins said, in a snarl. “You – you’re the emissaries!”

“Yes,” Val said.

“I don’t think they are,” the second hobgoblin growled. “The deva has no wings! Liars. Traitors.”

“Tell Hakgkath,” the first hobgoblin said, and the one closest to the door moved away from the group, towards the door.

“We’ve been found out,” Val said, with zero emotion. “Damn.”

Manny stepped forward. “That’s fine,” he said, and raised both hands, gathering boiling spirals of flame in his fingers. The hobgoblins realized too late what was happening.

The group moved forwards, and the hobgoblins, already weakened by their battle with the troll, didn’t stand a chance.

“Take that,” Alfo snarled, as Shadow grabbed onto the leg of one he promptly knocked the head off of.

Past this room lay a long, empty hallway. Val pulled his cloak around himself again and set off in front of the group.

Tam narrowed his eyes, staring at the hall. It smelled bad, like... like the stream had, down at the grate. Acidic, slimy.

“Val,” he began, but too late – as Val stepped forward, he smacked into what seemed like solid air. He bounced off it, stunned, and then did a full-on backflip as something lashed through the air, nearly invisible. He landed on his feet, eyes wide.

“Back up,” he called, “back up, back up!”

“What is it?” Alfo shouted.

“Cube! Ooze!”

The group sprang into action… or most of them did, anyway. Alfo was standing stock-still, staring at the invisible creature.

“Come on,” Val said, tapping his arm as he darted by. “Lure this thing out into the open and don’t get too close!”

Alfo didn’t move. Val spun, facing him, and waved a hand in front of his eyes. No response – he was trapped in his thoughts.

“For fuck’s sake,” Val hissed, glancing back over at the hallway where Tam could now see the shimmer of gel reflecting Manny’s firelight. “Come on, Alfo!”

The dwarf wasn’t listening. Val took a breath. “You are a weak-willed coward,” he snapped, staring directly into Alfo’s face, “and you’re an embarrassment to our team and to your clan.”

Alfo blinked quickly several times, then punched Val in the stomach. Val staggered backwards, coughing, directly into the cube, which grabbed at him; again he hurled himself to the side, rolling and springing up, though he was still clutching his midsection.

“Oh,” Alfo said, glancing down at his own fist.

“Fucking hell,” Val managed, wincing as he moved. “That hurt! On top of all the other hurt I have already!”

“You’re fine,” Tam said, automatically.

Everyone backed up as the wobbling cube of jelly crawled its way into the room. As it flowed over top the bodies of the dead hobgoblins, it sucked them up, suspending them in the center of its bulk.

“At least we can see it now,” Manny said.

They surrounded the goop, waiting patiently. When it was finally in the center of the room, the group descended on it like a pack of wild dogs, stabbing and battering it to pieces.

It didn’t take long to destroy it, despite its size and the quivering pseudopods it used to lash at them. As they hit it, it shrank in size, eventually dropping the bodies of the hobgoblins it’d picked up and melting into a puddle of clear, hissing liquid on the ground.

They followed the map. It led them through a small maze of passageways and chambers, mostly empty, until it dumped them out into the main entry hall of the castle.

The door was shut, and barred, but the splinters of wood lying across the floor told Tam it had been battered in recently, and then repaired. There were two corpses as well, armored, but stabbed to death. One of them still had the dagger in the body.

“Drow,” Alfo said, narrowing his eyes.

“They’ve been through here,” Everett murmured, poking at one of the bodies with the end of his bow. “They must be close by.”

“Through the main chamber to the elevator, yeah?” Val said, glancing over to Rhoskan.

The dragonborn nodded. “Should be,” he said, an edge of nervousness in his tone.

Val strode forwards, placed one hand on each of the chamber doors, and pushed. Then he pushed again, harder, and this time the doors grated inwards.

They swung open and the darkness within was lit by a sudden pale gray light.

“Halt where you are,” called a low, sonorous voice in Common. “Come no further until you’ve stated your intentions… and given reason for us not to kill you where you stand.”

The light emanated from the hand of a tall, imperious-looking elven woman standing atop some type of raised ground, skin a deep ash gray and hair a brilliant white and cascading down from her head nearly to the floor. Settled on the crown of her skull was a many-pointed crown of white bone and black carapace, crafted beautifully together. The globe of gray light hovered above her palm, held close to her chest, and the light streamed upwards and cast the sharp angles of her face into deep shadow. Her eyes, piercing through the darkness of the room, were a brilliant, blood-like crimson.

“Ah,” said Val, stumbling for a moment. He bowed hurriedly to her, sweeping one arm behind him. “Valerian Redwyne, at your service.”

The Queen looked on, raising her eyebrows. “…and?” she said, after a moment.

“We just need to use the elevator,” Val said. “Can we get by?”

_Unbelievable._

“I’m afraid not,” the Queen said, shaking her head. “You’ve done great crimes against my people, and you will have to answer for them.”

Out of the darkness to her right and left came two shapes – two more drow, both with long hair tied back, though theirs was a deep black. One male, clad in black leathers, and one female, wearing similar silky armor, a dagger in one hand and the other down by her side, fingers twitching as if to cast a spell. They came forward into the light, stepping –

“Talila?!” Val said, eyes going wide.

The drow woman stopped, glanced at the Queen, and then sighed. “Yes,” she said. “It’s me.”

“You made it safely! Good to know.”

“I see you’ve met my daughter,” the Queen said. “You should thank her. Because of what you did for her, your lives have been spared.”

Val glanced back at Tam. Tam looked to Talila; she glanced down to him, and he saw a faint flicker of a smile across her face. He nodded once.

“You have committed great crimes against the drow,” the Queen continued, unmoving. “You’ve slain many of us, upon Dúr-Ael and in the tunnels. These are crimes that would be punishable by death… but you have saved my daughter’s life, and if you do one more thing for us, we will let you go peacefully.”

“…alright, what thing?” Val asked, standing. He was extraordinarily nonchalant, given the situation.

“Beat back the hobgoblin army,” the Queen instructed. “Keep them from breaching our walls, and you will be allowed to walk freely to the surface.”

Val glanced back at the group.

Tam nodded. Alfo, at his side, shook his head, and Shadow growled. Manny nodded; the rangers looked the group over, and then Redrick and Clotilde nodded while Everett shook his head.

“Sounds fair enough,” Val said, turning back to the Queen. “We’ve got the advantage in here, anyways. Shouldn’t be that hard.”

“There you go again,” Rhoskan sighed, “saying things like that.”

“Oh!” Val turned back to the Queen. “Can our blacksmith repair the elevator? It doesn’t work right now, and it won’t be a short task. I promise we won’t leave until we’ve helped you. It’d be too difficult to get out sneakily anyways.”

The Queen dipped her head. “That’s acceptable,” she said. “I will leave it to you to assist my forces in laying traps in the fortress. The enemy have already breached our walls; they've retreated for the moment, but will enter again soon.”

“We’ll riddle the place,” Val said, grinning. “Ah… if I might request, could you let your people know we’re not trying to kill them? I’d not like to get attacked in the hallways…”

“Certainly,” the Queen said, with a faint hint of a smile.

Tam liked her.

Val whirled. “Well, let’s go,” he said cheerfully, to the group. “Except you, Rhoskan. You get to go to the elevator.”

“Thankfully,” Rhoskan said, and stepped forwards.

The Queen looked to him. “My children will take you to the elevator,” she said, and tossed the gleaming ball of gray light upwards. It spiraled up to the peak of the ceiling and bloomed into a large globe of fuzzy gray luminescence, illuminating the entire room in pale, washed-out hues.

The Queen was standing at the rim of some kind of pool, filled with a liquid Tam couldn’t see at the moment – the pool was too high up, above his line of sight. Her children were standing on the steps that led up to it. They stepped down and flanked Rhoskan. In the moment before they started moving, Alfo suddenly hurried forwards, stepping up beside Rhoskan.

“It won’t be safe if they get in,” he explained, looking at the Guard’s surprised glances. “He needs protection.”

“It is much appreciated,” Rhoskan said fervently.

The drow twins led the two around the pool in the center of the room. The Queen clasped her hands together, looking to the Guard and the rangers. “Go,” she said. “Defend my castle.”

“Right-o,” Val said, and pointedly tugged on Tam’s cloak and Manny’s arm as he walked past them, towards the door.

They followed. As the Guard left the room, Tam glanced back and saw the Queen beginning to cast some type of spell, her back to the door. The liquid in the pool rippled in response to her movements, and Tam looked out to the halls and began to hear wind whistling through them.

She was filling her castle with magical traps. Tam hoped that she’d arranged it so they, personally, didn’t have any trouble getting through it.

The first place they went was a library where multiple hallways convened. The group split up almost immediately, stalking through the shelves in search of any intruding hobgoblins or good places to put traps.

_Stay with Val._

Tam stuck near his cousin. They went about halfway through the library, with Manny on their heels, and then Val spotted ahead of them some slumped figures on the ground.

“Hey,” he said, trotting forwards a few steps, “what’s this?”

They were skeletons, both stretched out on the ground, atop a red and gold carpet. Between them lay a pristine scroll case.

Val frowned at them, then walked forwards, stepping over the bones and scooping up the case. Immediately he knew something was wrong, because he threw himself sideways into a bookshelf on purpose, sending the entire thing tipping sideways and crashing to the ground. Tam didn’t see it until he stood up.

When Val pulled out of the toppled shelf, shook his head, and looked to the rug, Tam could see lines on his face that hadn’t been there before, and a streak of white in his hair. He was older now.

“What the fuck was that,” he said, a slight tremble in his voice. He blinked, startled, and looked down at himself. “What’s wrong with my voice. What’s happening.”

“You… aged,” Manny said, staring.

“I what?!” Val scrambled up and strode over – he wasn’t any taller, but his frame was slightly thicker, stronger, and he sounded older. He looked around. “I don’t have a mirror handy. Does –“

“Here,” Manny said, pulling a pocket-sized mirror out of nowhere and holding it out. Val grabbed it frantically and began to examine himself in the clear glass.

“You weren’t kidding,” he said. “I aged. That rug did something to me and now I’m older. I look – oh my god, look at my hair.”

“It still looks fine,” Manny tried.

“It looks fantastic!” Val crowed, straightening up. He was about eye level with Redrick, something Tam hadn’t noticed until now. “I have a white streak! That’s classy as fuck. Now people will definitely take me seriously.”

“You’re not upset?” Manny said, watching.

“No! Why would I be?” Val grinned. “I don’t like that I’m old but I love the appeal of the streak. Looks wonderful!”

_He’s... a strange one._

Manny shifted his gaze to the carpet. “I wonder what would happen if I stepped on it,” he said, tapping one finger against his chin. “Since I don’t age.”

“Try it!"

“Sure.” Manny stepped forwards and put himself on the carpet.

It was strange – for a moment, he seemed to age, looking less like a sixteen-year-old boy and more like a young man, near to Val’s age (prior to his stepping on the carpet). But then his image flickered and he was himself again.

His appearance kept trying to go further, but it would always flicker back to his current self. He looked down at his hands. “Huh,” he said, casually.

“That’s weird,” Val said, still grinning. “That’s bizarre!”

“What’s in the case?” Tam asked, drawing everyone’s attention back to the scroll case Val had grabbed from the middle of the rug.

“Oh! Let me check.” Val unscrewed the cap, but stopped with his hand on it before pulling it off, staring oddly at it. “…Tam,” he said, voice peculiarly strained, “is this familiar to you?”

“Is what.”

Val moved his hand. Emblazoned on the end of the case was an engraving of a hart, standing on a bridge over a red river. That was the symbol of their family, the Redwyne family.

“Interesting,” Tam said, without any emotion at all.

“Yeah,” Val said quietly. He opened the case, letting the cap dangle from a little leather string that kept it connected case, and pulled out a sturdy-looking piece of parchment that appeared to be quite old, then unfurled and read it.

He stared at it for a long time.

Manny stepped off the rug and came over. “What’s it say?” he asked, curious.

Val swallowed. “Um,” he said, lowering it slightly and looking at everyone in turn. “Ah. Well. Hm. I’m not really sure what to, ah… what to make of this.”

“Why?”

“It has my name on it.” Val looked down to the paper and, in an odd, stressed, higher-pitched tone of voice, read its contents.

“’To my nephew, Valerian Redwyne, I leave the deed bequeathed to me by the Emperor. As I lie on my deathbed I wish for him to inherit my lands and properties, and all associated benefits as mentioned in the deed to my land. I, Draxus Redwyne, thus declare my intentions and will.’ It’s signed.”

He pulled a smaller sheet off the larger one and looked it over, eyes growing wider the whole time. “Deed of Entitlement for the Barony and Estate of Tila,” he squeaked, reading the words faster and faster as he went, as if he couldn’t believe they were really there. “’I (undersigned) bequeath the aforementioned title and lands unto this servant, for services rendered. As to the taxes gathered, this Baron shall owe 1/3 of the Estate’s income to the Crown’s Authority. As to levies, he shall provide no less, and no more than 1/3 his finest troops, your country commends you.’”

He paused and took a breath. “’Furthermore, I grant permission to the entitled Party to gather tolls for the upkeep of roads and bridges, given it doth not exceed 1/3 the property income.’ Signed Emperor Galleon, AB-38-2020.” He stared at it. “I… don’t know what this means. I don’t know what this is. I don’t know what to do with this.” He shook the paper; at the bottom was a wax seal with a ribbon that dangled off the page.

“Put it back for now,” Manny suggested.

“No! It’s mine. I’m keeping it.”

“I meant in the case.”

“Ah.” Val rolled the parchment sheets together and carefully slid them back into the case. “Um. My God. I… ah, do we – are we finished in here?”

“No, we have to trap it.”

“Oh.” Val glanced around. “Drag that damn rug over by the door. Anyone who walks on that’ll die, probably, if they don’t notice what’s happening.”

“That’s what happened to them,” Tam said, nodding to the two skeletons on the rug.

One of them was, indeed, wearing a beautiful set of intricate armor, gilded and white. “Do you think that was the Emperor?” Val said, hushed.

“Emperor of what?” Manny asked.

“Manny, grab that armor,” Val said. “And then like. Shove the bones off, so we can move the rug to a good place where it’ll kill some people.”

“Sure.”

Val tapped his fingers on the scroll case, frowning. Tam looked up to his face, silent, while Manny moved the bones. He looked pensive, and worried.

“What?” Tam asked.

“Uncle Draxus,” Val said quietly, “died before I was born.”

* * *

 

When they returned to the throne room and receiving chamber after meeting up with the rangers, they found Rhoskan hard at work on the elevator, Alfo assisting. Shadow lay nearby, silent, head on her paws.

“We’ve set a significant amount of traps,” Val announced, glancing around. “Where’s the Queen?”

“Resting,” said Talila’s brother, a sharp edge to his voice. “Her magic is exhausting.”

Val held his hands up. “Fair enough,” he said.

Alfo turned towards them, opening his mouth to speak, and froze.

“I found something in the library that apparently belongs to me,” Val said, to Talila’s brother, unaware of Alfo’s silence. “It’s got, like, my name on it. My full name. It’s written to me by my dead uncle. I feel like I should keep that…”

“I don’t care what you do with it,” the drow snapped, turning his nose up. “I just want you to leave.”

“Alright, alright,” Val muttered, hands up again. “Testy.”

“What happened to you,” Alfo managed, trembling.

“I didn’t think I looked that bad,” Val muttered, glancing down at himself. “I stepped on a bad rug and now I’m older than Tam.”

“Not naturally,” Tam said, out of obligation.

“I think it counts.”

Alfo swallowed nervously.

“It’s magic! It’s not – please don’t get freaked out about this,” Val said, swallowing nervously. “It’s really… not that big of a deal.”

Silence. Awkward, worried silence. Into it Redrick coughed.

“Ah,” he said, turning to Val (whom he was at eye level with, something Tam had never noticed before). “That parchment. May I see it?”

“…why?”

“I’m a paladin of Waukeen,” Redrick said. “I am educated in all matters of law and rule. I can tell you if that's, hm, legitimate.”

“Oh. Well, shit, alright, sure,” Val said, and handed the case over.

Redrick pulled the interior parchments out and looked them over, examining the seal carefully. He touched the ribbon, squinted at the writing, read it over.

“This... everything here seems to be in order,” he said finally, lowering it from his face. “This is a real deed to a real place – a place that, to my knowledge, has been unclaimed for some time and lies decrepit under distant Crest rule.” He shook his head. “You’ve been given this place, and the title of baron.”

“I’m a what,” Val said faintly.

“A baron.” Redrick handed him the parchment back, then – startlingly – knelt on the ground. “Baron Redwyne, if you would allow it, I would offer my services to you as steward of your estate. I would handle the matters of your finances and oversee the operations of your town and lands.”

Val stood there, stunned. “Ah,” he said, “ah… yes, I accept.”

Redrick bowed his head, then stood. “Thank you,” he said, clapping Val on the shoulder with one hand. He stood there for a moment, then nodded and stepped away, brushing past Val and heading over to where Everett and Clotilde were standing by the doorway.

“What the fuck just happened?” Val said faintly, turning to Tam. "Is it because people take you seriously when you're older? My word."

“Where did Manny go,” Tam said.

Val glanced around, then turned in a full circle. “Shit,” he said. “Lost him.”

From somewhere else within the castle, there was an explosion.

Val and Tam exchanged a glance. “Found him,” Val said.

He started towards the door, hurrying, but before he could reach it a drow burst in, panting for breath. “They’re attacking again,” he gasped, pointing outwards. “The – they’re scaling the walls, my Queen – where’s the Queen?”

“Resting,” Talila’s brother said. “Take care of it!”

“You don’t understand,” the drow panted. “It’s their full attack.”

There was a moment of stunned silence. “Oh,” Talila’s brother said, for once seeming at a loss for words.

“Alright,” Val said, stepping forward – everyone immediately looked to him. He drew Windsinger and held it at his side; it glimmered faintly in the darkness. He looked tall and commanding, confident and in-charge.

_His fate is to inspire and lead. He’s beginning to understand that now, even if not in a way he actively knows. He’s beginning to walk his path._

“I’m going up to the roof. I’m assuming you have battlements? Defenses up top?”

“Yes,” the drow said, nodding.

“Good. Go up there, and man those, now.” Val glanced around. “I don’t know where Manny is… Tam, can you set something up in the entryway to the castle? And someone needs to stay and defend Rhoskan!”

The room burst into action. Several drow that had been sitting around leaped up and began to scurry about; Val grabbed one by the arm and spun him around.

“Roof access. Where?”

“There,” he said, pointing, and Val nodded his head in thanks and ran for it.

Talila materialized out of the darkness beside Tam. “My soldiers will defend your engineer,” she said to him, quietly, in Elvish. “We’ll ambush anyone who enters the castle from the front gateway.”

He could do that. Tam nodded, and went with her out the main door. The traps consisted of preparing tripwires and webs, spiders and spells that Tam could cast at a moment’s notice. He did one that turned the area into a mess of vines anyway, ready for intruders.

The way Val told it later, the battle went like this.


	19. Battle for Glutton's Teeth

Val stepped off the top of the ladder, panting just a little – was being old like this? He got tired every time he did anything? That was ridiculous! – and looked over the roof towards the walltop. There were ballistae set up in intervals. Everett was already up here, running along the length of the wall setting singular arrows up.

“What’s that?” Val asked, hurrying over to him.

“Magic,” Everett said. “Don’t touch it.”

“Noted.” Val glanced to the drow. “All of you, don’t touch the arrows. And each of you, team up on a ballista! One to load, one to pull and fire. Clear?”

“Clear,” one of them reported.

This felt nice, to be honest. They followed his orders exactly. Was this what it was like to be in charge? Didn't seem disagreeable, as long as he knew what he was doing and didn't make a fool of himself. Perhaps being a baron wasn’t such a frightening concept.

The army started sending bugbears up the walls. It wasn’t at an angle that the ballistae could hit, so Val pulled out the wand Lord Mistymane had given him and held it securely in one hand. The tentacles came loose, then wrapped around his wrist, warm and slightly rubbery and extremely unnerving. Val wrinkled his nose and leaned over the battlements, aiming at the nearest one. “Alright,” he muttered, to the wand. “Do your thing.”

The wand trembled slightly, the air around it going wavy, and then below them the bugbear suddenly let out a hoarse cry and froze up where it was. This was halfway through climbing, and it lost its grip on the wall and fell.

And fell. And fell, until it hit the ground far below, too far away to hear the crunch of its bones but close enough that Val could see its body go badly-shaped.

“Ooh,” he said, unsure of whether or not he felt good about it.

A roar further along the walkway drew his attention – he glanced up and saw one of the bugbears climbing over the wall. The drow near it scattered. Immediately, Everett’s arrows, the ones he’d set up along the wall, animated themselves. They flew into the air and whipped forwards, slamming into the bugbear.

That was enough to knock it backwards. It toppled off the battlements, roaring as it went.

“Oh, brilliant spell,” Val said, flashing a grin over at Everett. “Fantastic!”

“Thank you,” Everett said, nocking an arrow. He clambered up onto the wall - standing close enough to the sheer drop to make Val very nervous - and aimed straight down, firing at another climbing bugbear.

“Aim for their catapults and siege towers,” Val ordered the drow on the ballistae, moving from one station to the next. “The larger creatures, the ones supporting the rest. It’s not organized, so it’ll be easy to make it break apart entirely.”

For a few minutes, they shot at bugbears making climb attempts and at siege towers. But no matter what they did, the army was creeping ever closer.

“I don’t like this,” Val hissed, to himself, tapping the fingers of his free hand on the stone. “I don’t like it…”

“Hey,” called Manny, and Val spun to see him climbing out of the roof access ladderway. He looked a bit battered, but alright. “What’s happening?”

“Uh, a war,” Val said.

“Cool, cool,” Manny said, nodding. “Anyway, the hobgoblin captain guy we talked to in the camp is dead.”

“What? How do you know?”

“He was inside the castle. I turned him to stone and dropped him down the well, the um... the one we found a while ago.”

“What the fuck?”

Manny peered over the battlements. “So they think he’s alive, but I definitely pretended to be the deva again and told them to stop the attack. Just now. I think it worked?”

“You what.”

“I like chaos,” Manny sighed, looking fondly at the battlefield.

Val whirled around and peered at the army. Indeed, now that he looked, he could see confusion spreading through their ranks; jostling movement, uncoordinated dissolution. Manny tapped on the circlet he was wearing, then stepped up, fire wreathing harmlessly around his hands. “So now, we get to do this,” he said, and raised one hand.

A tiny little bead of bright light formed in his palm, and he flicked it towards the army. It vanished immediately, disappearing in the air; Val squinted, trying to see it, and then saw where it landed, because a massive burst of flame bloomed up within the army.

“Hah,” Manny said.

“Keep firing!” Val shouted to the drow. “In volleys! They’re retreating!”

Manny whooped and hurled another tiny fragment of light down into the goblin army, where it incinerated a good number of them.

Goblins were scaling the walls, but not many. Alfo appeared after a few minutes, looking no worse for wear. “Ambush party tried to get Rhoskan,” he said, panting. “They don’t exist any longer.”

“Good work,” Val said, beaming. “We’ll have these wretched things routed in no time!”

Out of the darkness in the back of the cavern, away from the lights of the armies and the glimmer of steel, came a sound.

It was the deep, tangible thump of something moving in the air. Val felt it in his chest and recognized it immediately – but it couldn’t be, it _couldn’t_ …

When it came again, it dampened all sound, turning the din of the army into a faint buzz. It sounded like ocean waves, ebbing and flowing, crushing the sound beneath it. It echoed again, and again, and the drow on the battlements turned.

“That can’t be,” one of them said.

It roared. Val felt his heart sinking; the roar was the same, even, but there was a strange, flat tone to it now. It was like it had collapsed, or gone reverse-shaped, upside-down. Buried in the sound was a high-pitched tone like a scream, tortured and agonized, oscillating against itself. The sound ripped through the cavern, tearing as it went; Val could nearly see shreds in the air where the sound scraped along the jaws of Glutton’s Teeth and forced the drow to cover their ears, hissing.

And then, the source. It came from the blackness, vast form just as large as Val remembered it being, spiky scaled body and wings large enough to touch the cavern roof when it flapped.

“We killed that,” Val breathed, distraught. “We – we killed it!”

“No,” Manny said, shaking his head slowly. “It got pulled away.”

“But it was dying!”

The dragon swept forwards, into view, and backwinged, landing with a crash at the frontline of the army. It roared again.

This time, Val could see the deep purple glow in its mouth, and the way its jaw hung open too wide, connected by tissues that were rotting away. He could see the holes in its wing sails, the oozing slashes that were caked in black blood and half crusted over. He could see the air ripple around hit as it screamed, forcing wind through a dried, decaying throat.

“Oh fuck,” Val said. “Oh, fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. We – we really _did_ kill it.”

“That’s, uh, an undead dragon,” Manny said. “I believe they call those dracoliches?”

“We killed it,” Val repeated, voice nearly hysterical. “We just didn’t _stop_ it.”

“…huh.”

As they watched, the goblinoid army turned towards Ewlbkhan and began to attack. The dragon roared again, then swept forwards and breathed out a vast plume of deep violet flame. It annihilated the entire front line of the army.

“What do we do?” Val hissed, turning towards him and Alfo. A dracolich wasn’t something to be trifled with. There was no way they could defeat that.

“Well… we get on the elevator,” Alfo said.

Val blinked, pulling his head back. “Hadn’t thought of that,” he said. He looked to the drow. “I’m going to warn the Queen about what’s happened! Do what you must! Preserve your lives if you have the opportunity!”

He scrambled down the ladder, the other members of the Guard following him with Everett holding up the rear. They left the drow on the battlements.

 _Hope you live,_ Val thought, as he fled. _I’m not going to save you._

* * *

 

Tam met up with Val as he burst out of the hallway leading to the battlements, eyes panicked and breath short. “Tam,” he gasped, “where’s the Queen?”

“Past the throne room?”

“There’s a dracolich on the field.”

Tam had heard the roar, but he didn’t know what had made it. Now he did. “Oh,” he said. "...good."

“We need to warn her.”

Val turned and ran for the throne room, wriggling his way past drow in the hallways. “Excuse me!” he shouted, at the top of his lungs, as he went. “Need to get through, please!”

The throne room was shut. Val slammed into the doors, then pushed harder. He didn’t seem to be getting through.

Tam moved up and pressed against one while Val strained with the other. Something on the other side shattered, and they swung inwards.

“Queen!” Val gasped, as he stumbled inwards. “There’s a –“

He stopped short.

Talila stood facing them, one hand holding a wicked-looking dagger. Behind her, on the rim of the pool, stood her brother. His hands were empty, but the Queen’s body was lying at his feet, blood draining into the basin, both from the wound in her gut and the deep gouge that cut to her heart. Her crown had fallen and was laying shattered at the edge of the steps.

“Lich,” Val finished, staring. “Dracolich.”

“I know,” Talila said, smoothly. Tam glanced up to the other twin; he was watching them carefully. Talila sighed, examining the dagger. “We brought it here.”

“Why?!”

Her gaze slid up, smooth as silk and deep, deep violet. “For entropy,” she hissed, and lunged at him.

Talila’s brother grabbed hold of his dagger, wrenching it out of the Queen’s chest with a spray of blood. He leaped off the edge of the pool and came at Tam fiercely.

Tam pulled his shield up, that simple wooden thing, and heard the scrape of the dagger across it. On the other side of the door Val whipped Windsinger up and jabbed quickly at Talila, getting her once very cleanly in the side; she cried out and staggered.

Her brother glanced over at the sound, and Tam took the opportunity to command his rats.

They’d been so patient, this whole time. They’d been waiting for a chance to eat. They were so hungry.

_Consume him._

They surged forwards in a wave of fur and bone and climbed up the drow’s body, wriggling up his sleeves and down his shirt. He screeched in response and began to bat at them, but there were too many, just too many, and as they began to devour his flesh he fell to the floor, writhing.

Val swiped forwards with Windsinger, and it seemed almost to direct itself to the hollow at the base of her throat. It jabbed in and out, neat and clean, humming and shining the whole time. She fell backwards with a cry, blood flying, and Val darted away, wary of further attacks.

Outside the room, Tam heard a heavy clanking and the rattle of one of the gates. “Go,” he heard Alfo shout, and then the gate rattled back down and Alfo appeared in the doorway.

“What the hell’s going on?” he demanded, looking between them.

“Some wack shit,” Val said. “The Queen’s dead. Her kids killed her.”

“Rhoskan told me to get the golem for the dracolich. It’s out there now.”

“…that might actually kill it,” Val said, but he sounded doubtful.

“We have to _go,”_ Alfo said.

Behind Val, Tam saw movement. He twitched, trying to listen past the hubbub of the battle and Val and Alfo’s voices and the sound of his rats chewing on flesh.

Something in Talila’s body moved. It wasn’t her, because the movement was an unnatural heave and a twitch.

“Hm,” Tam started, and as he said that Talila’s body burst like a rotten fruit and out climbed one of the silver-hide beasts from the chapel. Val shrieked and leaped away from it, bringing Windsinger up. The beast scuttled forwards and lashed out with its tongue, but it bounced off Tam’s shield and recoiled.

Alfo did not care for the creature, it seemed. He lifted his axe, roared out something incomprehensible, and rushed forwards, bringing the blade down heavy on the beast’s neck. It staggered under the impact, pressed to the floor, and as it whined Val darted forwards and jabbed Windsinger into its eyes, or the dark pits that should have been eyes.

It screamed, and writhed, and went still. Val was breathing hard, forehead beaded with a few drops of sweat.

“We _have_ to go,” Alfo repeatedly, more urgently this time.

“Right.” Val paused to pick up Talila’s dagger from where it had fallen; Tam glanced around and found her twin’s, and lifted it as well. There was something strange about them… but now was not the time to contemplate it.

They turned and fled. Everett and Manny had already come to this conclusion, and were already waiting at the elevator platform. “Hurry, hurry,” Everett hissed, nervous. Even Clotilde, normally stoic, was tense with anxiety.

“We’re here,” Val gasped, sprinting onto the platform after Tam. “We’re here. Go. Go!”

Beyond the walls of the castle echoed a new sound. All of them froze; it came with a rumbling, a deep tremble they recognized from before.

“ _That_ fucking thing is coming _too?!_ ” Val panted, looking around. “I mean, I suppose this is a hell of a hubbub, but there’s enough of a party going on out there already!”

Outside they heard an explosion of sound and then a scream, a rattling, burbling roar. The purple worm had indeed arrived. Rhoskan fiddled with the elevator controls, then grabbed onto a leaver and heaved it upwards. With a jolt, the entire platform began to rise.

It lifted them out of the fortress, far far back against the wall, on a slant that carried them away from the battle. Tam couldn’t see what was happening, but he heard the sounds of the battle.

(Val saw it, with the faint light in the cavern and his mask. Val saw the golem, hands locked around the jaws of the dracolich, belching steam as the purple worm wrapped around them both. But even he couldn’t see the outcome of that battle.)

The sounds faded. The battle faded behind them, and they were rising on a platform through the utter darkness, no walls on the sides, no elevator shaft to keep them enclosed. Val stayed as close as he could to the center of the platform, as did most everyone else; Tam did not, sitting near the edge. If he fell, he could be birds in a mere moment. He wasn’t afraid.

The darkness held them close.


	20. Gift of Syllariss

The ride up was long, and everyone but Tam lost track of the time. They dozed, exhausted and weakened, until they began to see light above them.

“Hey,” Manny said, noticing it first, “light.”

“That’s not the sun,” Redrick muttered, squinting. “Where are we?”

“Emberhearth,” Alfo said, almost reverently. “The greatest city in the world.”

 _As if,_ Tam thought, and said nothing.

The elevator platform slide up, slowly, and when it finally did, they found themselves in a room filled with bright torches.

No one was there, except one figure, standing there with a staff in one hand and an owl on his shoulder.

“….Syl?” Val said, staring.

“You made it,” he said, letting out a sigh. “Thank the gods you did.”

“…what’s going on? Why are you here?”

Syl hesitated.

_Something is very wrong. Something that he can’t tell you._

“I’m here to help,” he finally said. “You look in sorry state.”

“Yeah, I’m like… forty,” Val said, staring down at himself. “Can you fix that?”

“Oh, certainly.” Syl beckoned. “Off the elevator, though. It’s not stable.”

“Fair enough.” Val gathered his things up and left the elevator platform; everyone else followed. Syl reached out and touched Val’s shoulder, and in a moment his appearance blurred and suddenly he was younger again.

“There you go,” Syl said, opening his eyes, and then frowned. “Oh, I didn’t seem to fix the white in your hair… I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s still there?”

“Unfortunately.”

Val pumped his fist. “Yesss,” he said, grinning.

“Syl.” Tam raised his head. “What happened to Pat?”

“He was placed in the spot Manuya vacated,” Syl said, glancing over at the yuan-ti, who was lounging against the wall. “On his way to slay a red dragon.”

“Oh, how’d that go for him?” Val asked, stretching.

“Quite well, actually. He killed it.”

“…oh.”

“He’s back in Crisidea now.”

Val frowned. “Alright,” he said, looking at the ground. “I suppose he won’t be rejoining us, then?”

Syl shook his head.

There was a moment of silence. Val straightened up after a few seconds and said, “Oh, well, you know everything. Could you tell us about these?” He brought forth the dagger he’d taken from Talila’s corpse. Tam fished the one he’d grabbed out too, and held it out; they matched, though the exact designs on the handles weren’t the same.

Syl looked them over, then took a sharp breath. “These are not good,” he said, taking the one out of Val’s hands. “In fact, they’re cursed. You’ve already been affected.”

“Uh, what?”

“Don’t worry.” Syl reached out and tapped the center of Val’s forehead. “It’s taken care of.”

“I was cursed?” Val said, baffled.

Syl continued, turning to Tam and taking the dagger from his hands as well. “These are symbolic and ceremonial, though very functional,” he said. “But the original runes have been scratched over with the symbols of Myrkul.”

Tam frowned. He’d heard the name before.

Syl noticed his confusion. “The god of death,” he explained. “Of decay, of entropy.”

“Entropy?” Val laser-focused in on the conversation. “That’s what Talila said…”

“Before she exploded?” Alfo asked, glancing up.

“Yeah, before.”

“Before what,” Syl said, looking faintly alarmed.

“Her body. Exploded into one of those blade-dog things the Harvester had,” Val said, and shivered. “Do you know anything about the Harvester?”

“The whom?” Syl said, looking baffled.

“Creepy, wears a wooden mask, drops grubs all over the floor? Has a scythe?”

“I regret to inform you that I have no idea who you’re talking about,” Syl said, looking _more_ alarmed now.

“That’s a shame,” Tam said clearly, “because he has my face.”

“Wait, he what,” Val said, pivoting on his heel to look at his cousin.

Tam looked directly into Syl’s eyes. “He wears my face,” he repeated. “What do you know?”

“Nothing,” Syl said, shaking his head. “Nothing of the top of my head. You seem to have uncovered many mysteries that I have no clues or answers to. Searching the libraries of Elder Vale would yield more information.”

Tam subsided.

“I’ll take you there,” Syl said, looking over the group. “If you would like to go, that is.” Athene, on his shoulder swiveled her head and looked over the group.

“No time like the present,” Val said, shrugging.

“Great.” Syl snapped his fingers.

They were suddenly standing in the courtyard of the library, underneath the massive tree that dominated the area. Tam squinted in the sunlight; everyone took a moment to stare around, at the sky, the sun, the light, the air.

The teleport had been instantaneous, soundless, and painless. Tam tapped the ground with his staff; they were standing on soil, run through with the roots of the tree, covered in grass. No teleportation circle.

“Come,” Syl said. “We have much to research.”

“We can’t,” Tam said, stopping. “The Eye. It has to go to the tower.”

Syl full-on stopped where he was walking and turned around. “…you already did that,” he said.

“Sorry, what?” Alfo said, stepping up beside them.

“You already did that,” Syl repeated. “The Night Guard placed the Eye of the Sunwatchers in the Redoubt last year.”

“Well, we certainly didn’t do that,” Val said, frowning, “and we didn’t even have it a year ago. I’m not sure we were even Heroes then.”

Syl paused, for a long time. For far too long.

“What year is it?” he finally asked.

Val swallowed. “2064,” he said, slowly.

“Oh, dear,” Syl said.

“What. What does that mean.”

“It’s 2079,” Syl said softly.

“It’s fucking what,” Val said, going even paler than he normally was.

“Why did you think it was 2064?”

“That’s the year it was when we went down there?!”

“I’m afraid that’s not the case.”

“What the fuck,” Val said, “what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.”

He seemed so genuinely distressed that Tam actually looked over to him, concerned.

“I – how? How did that happen? Who…” he paused, taking a deep breath, and ran his hands through his hair. “Who the fuck are the people who said they were us?!”

“…I’m not certain,” Syl said. “I was in Emberhearth because you went into the Underdark a few days ago and you were schedule to emerge today.”

“I don’t understand,” Val whimpered.

Syl looked legitimately sympathetic. “I am sorry,” he said, and nothing else.

Tam shook his head. “There cannot be another Guard or another Eye,” he said. “We have the Eye.”

“You have…” Syl trailed off, frowning.

In response, Tam brought out the wooden box and opened it. Nestled in its depths was the Eye of the Sunwatchers, gleaming as it had before.

Syl sucked in a quick breath. “If you have it,” he said, “then what’s in the Tower?”

A long, heavy silence.

“We need to go the tower,” Tam said.

Val pulled himself together. “Uh,” he said, taking a few deep breaths. “Yeah. Ah. Yeah. Right. The tower. How do we get there?”

* * *

 

The Ashewood was familiar to Tam – he’d been here before, many times, with the other druids of the Circles. The path into the Ashewood was rather unkempt, but navigable. The entire group was silent.

It was just the four of them – Redrick had left them, heading for Tila Estate, and the other rangers had departed for Sindaleth. The Night Guard was alone. They were silent, tense. It had been such a journey to get to this – and now, they were so close, and nothing made sense.

The Redoubt could be seen from a distance away if they passed through meadows or clearings. It was a tall, white stone tower, one spiraling staircase running up the outside of it. The top was open – through the archways holding up the roof Tam could see a gleam of light, wavering darkly.

They continued, closer. Around the base of the Redoubt was a wide open area of cleared land; they passed into it, up the weathered road.

No one stopped them. Nothing stood in their way.

There was no point to going inside the tower; they headed up the outer staircase and into the open lighthouse portion.

There was a pedestal in the center of the room, underneath a carved spike of stone that hung from the center of the ceiling. The pedestal was a slight basin, empty, and Tam knew that in the center was where the Eye belonged.

There was, however, a slight problem.

“….the fuck is that,” Alfo said, staring.

Suspended in the air between the pedestal and the spike was a fist-sized gemstone, identical in every way to the Eye of the Sunwatchers… except in color.

Where the Eye of the Sunwatchers was a brilliant, liquid gold and red, this one was a deep indigo, hints of gold muffled by swathes of violet and black. Its dark shimmer cast ripples over the room, the same way their Eye did, but dark, shadowy. Like silk, or ink.

“That’s… something,” Manny said. Even he was taken aback, staring at the other Eye. It dripped darkness into the basin, where it curled into mist and evaporated.

It spun ever so slightly in place.

 _The Eye of the Duskwatchers_ , Tam heard, silently, in his mind. _My counterpart… forever. Place me._

The Eye. He pulled the box out and opened it; the Eye’s light gleamed, then burned, shining over the walls of the tower’s interior. Tam reached out carefully and touched the gem’s smooth surface.

It was warm to the touch, and pulsed, like soft-beating heart of a small animal. But the pulse was slow, steady, not filled with fear. He ran his fingertips over the surface, then turned the box and carefully wiggled the gem out of its satin housing, letting it fall heavily into his open palm. It was almost too big for one hand to hold, but just barely nestled in his fingers.

_Place me… yes._

He reached out, palm up, holding the stone out towards its partner. A strange force twanged in the air and he felt the gem begin to lift from his palm –

His vision went dark. He froze where he was, hearing whispers echoing around his mind, curling around his ears and creeping through the corners and corridors of his thoughts.

The voices from before, the ones who’d spoken when he’d donned the Mantle; those were there, fingers on his shoulders and breath whisking against his skin. There were others, too, but they were less clear, harder to hear.

He heard, and he saw.

Flashing before his eyes went a series of images and sounds – he barely had time to see one before it was gone, replaced with another. A burning castle, afloat upon a sea of magma; a dark, misty swamp, trees twisted and rotting; a tall white tower made from brilliant ice; a city of black glass, suspended over a void; a simple-looking hammer, metal and leather, suspended by chains above a fiery chasm; a golden dragon winging in a wide circle underneath a brilliant, burning sun…

He stood stock-still until the last images had faded, and the only whispers he heard were the Eyes, now hanging together in the air, muttering to each other in a language he didn’t understand.

The Eye of the Sunwatchers was above the other Eye, the dark Eye, and brightness rose off it and drifted to the ceiling, spreading across it, mimicking the darkness that fell from the dark Eye. It was now balanced, as it should have been.

“…Tam?” he heard Val say, behind him. “You’ve been standing there for, like, a solid minute.”

“I have seen some things,” Tam began, retracting his hand from the air between the pedestal and the spire. “I will tell you what they are.”

“…alright?”

He turned and saw the other three staring quizzically at him. “In my mind. Visions.”

“Oh,” Val said. “Alright, well, that’s different.”

Tam began to relay them, but Val held up his hands. “Images,” he said. “Can you draw them? I’m sorry, but you are not the best at describing things.”

A fair enough criticism. “Yes,” Tam said.

Over the next several days, he focused on each image, every detail, and began to draw them, using a small sketchbook and a package of colored pencils that Val had handed him silently several hours after they’d returned to Elder Vale. They set out for Tila Estate not long after, and each night Tam worked on the pictures until he lost the daylight to do so.

What he’d seen was important. That he knew, or he wouldn’t have seen it. But how they would matter was a mystery to him.

He supposed he would find out in due time.


	21. Tila

Tila Estate, when they found it, was… not as dramatic as Val had been hoping for, clearly. Not from the approach, anyways. They first passed through a series of farm fields surrounding the town of Tila, and then through the town itself. They were on horseback, which drew quite a lot of attention to them; Tam hated it immediately. He pulled his cowl up and hid his face, tucking his staff underneath his cloak and trying not to look at the townsfolk. He felt exposed, out in the open…

“Hm,” Val said aloud, staring around at the rather run-down and fairly bedraggled town as they rode slowly through it. A few dirty-looking children stared at them from the gaps between a few of the buildings; the road was half cobblestone, half dirt. “This… could use some improvement.”

The land around Tila was a mixture of hills, forest, and swampland to the northeast. The main estate was laid out in a sprawling collection of hallways and buildings in the middle of a sunny patch of cleared woodland north of the town.

The estate, when they arrived at it, was buzzing with activity, unlike the town. It took mere moments for Redrick to locate them.

He was no longer clad in plate armor, and instead was wearing a very functional gambeson, still embroidered with the symbol of Waukeen. “Baron Valerian!” he said, rushing forwards as they entered the main hall.

“That feels nice to hear, but I think it’ll be a mouthful if you say that every time,” Val said. “Don’t do that.”

“Ah – right,” Redrick said, stumbling over his words. “Right. I’ve begun to fix the estate up a bit, and I’ve gotten quarters made for each of you. If you like, I could show you around the grounds – or if you’re tired, if you prefer, you could retire straight away.”

Val glanced at the group. “I’ll have a look around,” he said.

The most interesting parts of the estate, to Tam, were the quarters of the other members of the Night Guard and the grounds. That was all he really cared about – the exact workings of the manor and its staff and buildings and whatnot were not his concern.

Manny had been gifted a warm room on the second floor of the manor, hot like the desert sand and extremely dry with a massive circle of a sun glowing in the center of the circular chamber’s ceiling. It could be made brighter or dimmer at his whim, letting off more or less heat. Smaller rooms budded off the main one, each for their own purpose: storing clothing in dressers and wardrobes, sleeping in a deep night-blue colored bed with fire-orange and gold trim, storing more clothing in more dressers and wardrobes, ensuring one looked exactly as they should via a lighted mirror and reflected-light dressing room, viewing the outside world from a balcony with table and chairs and wrought-iron railing, testing magic by throwing it down a reinforced tubular chamber at unsuspecting dummies…

The ground of the main chamber was not stone, but sand, piled in heaps and miniature dunes. It radiated heat up from it as well; underneath was some sort of heating system, likely powered by some arcane magic. Manny would never be cold here.

“Oh, this is great,” Manny said, looking pleasantly surprised. “I hate the winter.”

“I know,” Redrick said, giving him a smile. “You always have. This should be a little bit more like home for you, hm?”

“Which one?” Manny flashed Redrick a rare grin. “Osden definitely doesn’t get this warm, even in the summer.”

“Oh, you know what I meant.”

 _No one else does_ , Tam thought, but kept his confusion to himself.

Alfo’s chambers were lower down, on the ground floor of the manor, and thick oak doors leading into a dim room with oil lamps on most of the stony corners. From here there was direct access to the outdoors – undoubtedly the room had been chosen to accommodate Shadow.

That was accessible through a small hall leading out of the main chamber. There were two side rooms, one smaller one that was a bathing chamber and one larger one filled with armor dummies and racks for weapons lining the walls. Alfo grinned when he saw it; he had enough weapons to fill one of the walls already, and he would no doubt be collecting more as time went on.

The main chamber contained drawers, cabinets, and shelves for Alfo’s possessions, and a large, dark-wood bed with a deep green spread and a thick fur atop that. On the ground at the foot of it was a matching brown and green dog bed, extremely oversized - for any normal dog, that was. It was the perfect size for a wolf.

Shadow perked up as soon as she saw the bed and bounded into the room, sniffing at it. She immediately began to trot through all of the chambers while Alfo thanked Redrick; by the time they were finished, so was she, and she curled up in the cushioned bed and rested her nose on her tail, watching them through dark eyes.

“Go on,” Alfo said, waving a hand to Tam and the others. He cast a fond smile over at Shadow. “I’m gonna get settled here.”

“Sure. I’ll send someone – one of the serving staff – to let you know when they’ve prepared dinner,” Redrick said.

“A dinner?” Val said, immediately interested.

“Yes.” Redrick nodded. “A welcome feast! For our new baron.”

The main bedchambers of the estate were, of course, reserved for Val. They were a sprawling collection of rooms linked together, plenty of draped curtains and silks, windows that let in natural light and little alcoves to put treasures he collected in. Or himself, which he did, immediately, hopping up into a cushioned window seat and humming to himself as he fiddled with the drapes that could be closed to seal the alcove off. There was already a desk set up for him, and stands for his instruments and weapons – including a specially crafted wooden rack for Windsinger, against the wall next to a four-poster curtained bed that was settled in one corner of the bedroom. In another part of the chambers was a beautifully crafted bathroom, left over from whoever had owned this estate before Val (presumably, Draxus). It was tiled in white limestone coated in some kind of gloss to keep it from eroding away; there were tall, frosted-glass windows on the walls, letting in a great deal of light while not allowing anyone to see in from the outside. There were even towels already hanging from the bars on the walls.

“Flawless,” Val breathed, delighted, as he peered in the wide silver-glass mirror over the sink. “This is perfect. Redrick, you’ve done a fantastic job!”

What actually impressed Tam, however, were the quarters Redrick had designed for him. He’d been worried, following Val through the hallways, that he was going to be assigned some dead, cramped room, but was intrigued when Redrick turned and led them outside.

“I had this old shed cleaned up,” he said, “and turned into a… well, it should match you, at the very least.” He gestured to Tam with a nod of his head.

Past the lawn surrounding the manor lay that stretch of swampland that had interested Tam when he’d first seen it. Redrick led them into the trees, then down into the muckier areas, leading them along a raised boardwalk path that wound through the cypress.

It eventually led them to a wooden building, small, with several windows and a door leading down to what was likely a cellar (even in this swamp? the craftsmanship must be exquisite to avoid flooding) tucked up against the side. “It’s a little damp,” Redrick said, apologetically, “but… I thought you probably wouldn’t mind that all that much.”

The door didn’t creak. Tam opened it and stepped inside – it was filled with plants growing almost straight from the walls. There were small glass bell jars overtop of particularly interesting specimens, and a small but comfortable-looking bed tucked into a corner. The room was taken up mostly by bookshelf-cabinets lining the walls and a large table in the center.

Tam was impressed, in spite of himself. “Thank you,” he said, after a moment, turning to Redrick.

“We didn’t bother doing any sort of pest-proof,” Redrick said, with a shrug. “We figured you would handle that yourself…?”

“There are no pests here,” Tam said, glancing around. There were at least two large spiderwebs built up against the ceiling, and he could already see ants and pillbugs scuttling across the floor near the baseboards. “Only friends.”

“Right. Well, if you need anything else… the estate’s druid helped put this together for you. Pyria Gleamstride is her name; if you need her, she can usually be found near the estate or in the swamp. It’s her… area of expertise, if you will. She can make any changes necessary to your home or the area around it.” Redrick gestured vaguely downwards. “She’s why you have a cellar; if you don’t need it, she’ll let it flood and sink naturally, but she’ll keep your house stable.”

Tam nodded. She sounded quite useful, and he was running through the druids he knew of to see if she came to mind. The name didn’t immediately sound any bells, but that wasn’t unusual. He didn’t know many of the druids from the Circles. They tended not to socialize; druids preferred the company of the land and its creatures and plants, not other people.

Redrick and Val left to go tour the rest of the estate, and Tam was finally free to sit in the peace and quiet of his new home. He immediately set the staff against the wall and watched some of the insects there crawl out, onto the walls, and vanish; new ones would arrive soon.

Then his swarm. He sent the rats away; he would call for them if he needed them. No, what he wanted now were birds. Ravens. Those would come when called; no simple carrion-eaters but hunters as well, smart, smart enough to answer. And they could fly.

The first few arrived quickly, and then over the next hour or so – answering the silent, insistent call of Tam’s magic – a group gathered, swirling down to perch in the trees around the shack, mostly silent. Their presence seemed to cast a bit of a shadow over the swamp, dulling the noise and activity, but as they remained in the area the other creatures began to adjust to their presence.

Someone did call him to the estate for dinner – he was legitimately impressed, and slightly amused, by the servant that had come all the way out here on Redrick’s orders to hesitantly and nervously call for him. She was just a halfling serving cook, clearly unnerved by the swamp, which was rapidly darkening in the evening light, and the massive amount of ravens perched silently in the trees.

The dinner was surprisingly good. Val’s kitchen staff had been chosen well; the meal was partially made with produce from the farms in Tila, and partially with imported foods. Alfo kept feeding snippets of it to Shadow underneath the table – until one of the kitchen staff brought out a bowl filled with thinly sliced meat and vegetables and placed it on the floor for her.

“We will be fixing up this area,” Val said, and for a moment Tam felt a stab of fear and thought he might be about to enact something terrible on the grounds, or the people of the village.

He wouldn’t do that. Not this him, no.

_This him?_

“Firstly,” Val said, through a mouthful of some kind of braised fish, “we’re reallocating the toll funds. That village is in a sorry state. Whoever’s been managing this place clearly hasn’t valued the people here very much. The infrastructure is riddled with holes.”

Everyone at the table stared at him.

“Shut it,” he mumbled, glowering at them. “I’ve been with Redrick all day. He’s rubbed off on me a bit.”

After the dinner, the rest of the Guard retreated to their quarters. Tam walked quietly back to his cabin in the darkness, occasionally glancing up at the glittering stars strewn above.

Tila was in the intersection of three roads that traversed the continent, and aside from the small village and the manor, there was no civilization for miles around. The sky here was dark and beautiful.

The swamp was mostly quiet. Tam listened to the ravens muttering to one another as he passed underneath them; they followed him instinctively, fluttering through the branches overhead. All was quiet; all was calm.

This place, it seemed, would be a good home for him. He did have to use a light to see in the darkness of his cabin, but it was only a beeswax candle on the table, nothing too bright or harmful.

He bundled himself into his new bed and blew the candle out. This was much better than bedrolls and campfires; comfortable, and in one place. Tam let his thoughts drift and was lulled to sleep by the chatter of distant insects in the swamp and the sleepy cooing of the ravens.

The next morning he awoke to utter silence. This was already enough to disturb him; he knew immediately that something was off. Where were the creatures? Swamps could be still, and calm, and silent, but not like this.

 _Come to me,_ he called to his ravens, and waited.

None answered.

That was far more worrisome. Had something taken or killed his ravens during the night without him noticing?

The light outside the windows was diffuse and pale, and dim; grayish. He peered through the window above his bed and saw only fog beyond the glass.

Tam narrowed his eyes. Suddenly he felt very vulnerable in this place – it was just a simple wooden shack, and the mist, out there, was creeping around it, surrounding it. In seconds it could be shattered. It was just wood and stone, really. What trouble would it be for some unknown force to grip his little cabin tight and break the wood, crushing it inwards, destroying what he had? Destroying him?

The plants inside the cabin were dying. He could tell; their leaves were dark and shriveled, mushy in some places. None of the flowers remained. How had all this happened over the night? Was this because of his presence here?

He had to go outside, find out what was happening. If there was danger, he could always fly away. There was always that. Tam took a breath and stood, reaching for the Mantle and his staff. He clasped the cloak over his shoulders and opened the door, poking out with the end of the staff.

Mist swirled in a bit, bringing with it a cool autumn chill – a little too cold for his liking, and damp. He swallowed and stepped out the door, shutting it. It creaked as he did so and he winced; the sound was loud, too loud, far too loud in this quiet, quiet place.

In the distance, something sloshed in the swamp water.

Tam’s attention snapped around. He peered towards the sound, but couldn’t see through the mists.

Something was wrong. The shapes of the trees he could see looming through the fog were twisted and dead, gnarled, dripping with slime and dying moss. The water was still, and there were no creatures in it, none at all.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

Everything about this was wrong. Tam hurried forward to the boardwalk path and found the planks half-rotted, breaking under his steps.

This could not have happened overnight, not without some sort of powerful force taking over the land. Which… meant that some sort of powerful force had taken over the land.

He hurried along the path. Around, he began to hear disconcerting sloshing and splashing, like some sort of creature moving through the water.

No – more than one. It was coming from multiple directions.

He hastened his steps, hurrying towards the manor. The swamp was close in, crowded, and for once Tam did not like the feeling of being enclosed. He loved small, tight spaces, but this one… this was wrong. The mist above, swirling white, made it feel as if he were trapped.

He came out onto the grassy lawn. It was dying, the grass beaded with dew but still browning and turning brittle. It was shot through with spiky-leaved plants and brambles, too, clusters growing wilder and darker.

The manor. There it was, up ahead, and Tam was stunned momentarily – when he got close enough to make out any details – to see that the paint on the wood was peeling, the stones were crumbling apart, and the shingles were dropping away. Parts of the building had begun to collapse, falling into heaps by the sides, half-covered in grass.

That kind of decay took time. Necrotic energy, perhaps, could be blamed for the state of the swamp, and the grass. But that? That was something only age could replicate.

What was going on?

He crept towards the front of the manor, along the side of the building, and finally heard it drifting out from a window above him.

The faint, sorrowful tones of a piano, perfectly in tune, echoing through the area. It was inside the house somewhere, being played, and the song itself was familiar, though Tam couldn’t place it.

Immediately his vision blinked black and he froze where he was.

Just like when he’d been replacing the Eye, images began to flash through his mind. But this time they stayed long enough for him to get a good look, absorb the details immediately.

First, his swamp, the dying trees bending achingly over the still water, branches draped in moss. Second, soldiers, armor rusted and caked in mud and flesh rotting away, pulling themselves from the muck and soil of the swamp and trudging through the water, reeking of death and decay. Third, a dark, heavy wood door, the stone frame carved with motifs of empty skulls and writhing bodies. And fourth, a figure standing in the main hall of Tila Manor.

He was tall, clad in black, high slightly heeled boots and dark embroidered patterns in his waistcoat and the half-cape that fell elegantly over one shoulder. He faced the wall, staring at a portrait that hung there; both of his pale hands, the cuffs of the sleeves edged with ruffled lace, were balanced on the hilt of a long rapier that rested point-down on the grimy tile of the entry hall. The sword itself was a darkly gleaming silver with a faint purplish shine to it. His hair was white except for a streak of black and his face was finely boned, sharp and beautiful, high cheekbones and a straight and prominent nose.

When he turned his head ever so slightly to the side in Tam’s vision, when his eyes flicked over, they were an achingly recognizable hazel, shot through with streaks of red like fresh blood.

It was Val.


	22. Nightmare

Tam’s vision cleared after a few seconds. He stood there, utterly still, one hand on the brick of the manor wall.

He would have paused to contemplate longer, but something else caught his attention – the sound of steel on steel, the ring of a sword drawn from its sheathe.

Someone was fighting. Tam glanced towards the manor, then off into the fog. What was out there sounded more pressing than whatever was inside the manor. The vision of the undead soldiers in the swamp flashed through his mind again – if they were there, there might be more elsewhere on the grounds.

He turned and swept through the fog, towards the sound. It was strange, not to be moving amongst the small bodies of his swarm, but there was nothing he could do – they had been gone when he’d woken, and he hadn’t stopped to try and gather a new one.

The sounds of battle grew louder. Tam hurried through the mist and almost ran straight into the circle of undead surrounding a tall man in plate armor, silver and red.

That armor was familiar. It was Redrick.

Tam moved forwards and brought his staff up butt-end first, slamming it into the spine of one of the soldiers. Redrick spun instantly at the sound, sword at the ready, and then took a step back, astonished.

“Tam?”

“Hello,” Tam said, and whipped the staff around again, cracking it into the same soldier.

Redrick nodded and turned around again, bringing his greatsword down with a scrape and a crack. It cut cleanly through the rotting leather armor of the soldier in front of it, taking the entire decrepit skeleton to the ground.

With Tam’s help, Redrick made quick work of the remaining soldiers, then stood there in the center of the circle, panting. He sheathed the greatsword, looking over the bodies, and turned to Tam. “What are you doing here?”

“I woke up here,” Tam said, frowning.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Redrick replied, looking as confused as Tam felt. “I – it’s been so long, so long since I or anyone else here saw you. We thought –“

He didn’t get any further – a flare of light through the fog caught their attention. It was coming from the manor, glaring out through a first-floor window.

“Him,” Redrick snarled. Just the one word. His face contorted into a snarl of rage, and he began to charge for the manor.

Tam followed, still baffled. Redrick drew the sword again as he ran, hissing between his teeth.

The manor’s front door was ajar. Redrick kicked it open and Tam saw that same light shining out from one room into the hallway. The interior of the manor was as worn-down as the exterior, the floors grimy and worn, the paint peeling from the walls. Tam noted that the sound of the piano had stopped.

There was movement in the doorway with all the light; Redrick ran forwards, sword at the ready. The twinging feeling of magic warping the world plucked at Tam’s mind from within the room. Val was in there… and a darker, sturdier feel. Alfo, too.

“Haven’t I already dealt with you?” came Val’s voice, but the sound of it was… wrong. Sharper, colder, hollow.

“Uh… no,” Alfo said, from inside the room, and there was a clash of metal on metal.

Redrick almost bounced off the hallway wall and threw himself into the room with a shout. Tam followed, halting by the doorway.

The image remained etched in his mind for long after. Val, tall and resplendent and pale and dressed in black and gray, one hand folded behind his back, the other holding Windsinger – no, not Windsinger. That wasn’t Windsinger. This sword was a deep silvery-gray, the inlays and runes different, wrong, and etched in deep violet-black. A faint, dark mist drifted off the blade.

That blade was balanced on the hilt of Alfo’s battleaxe, which he was holding in both hands. This dark Val looked to be simply holding the blade, resting it on the wooden hilt, yet Alfo was straining to push against the force.

Pressed against the wall on the other side of the room was Val, the Val that Tam knew, holding Windsinger in one hand and staring wide-eyed at his alternate self.

“You’re next,” the dark Val said, eyes flicking over.

“Don’t think so,” Alfo snarled, but his arms were shaking under the weight of the dark Val’s touch.

“No, no, no, what I say goes,” the dark Val sighed. He shifted his grip and pressed down with force on the hilt of the battleaxe, and the dark sword – a rapier, the sides weren’t even sharpened – snapped it in half. The rapier flicked up and the dark Val stepped back, cocking his head slightly to the side.

Redrick came at him. The dark Val swept out of the way, neatly sidestepping the strike, and in one smooth movement brought the dark blade up and plunged it through Redrick’s armor.

“Enough of that,” he said, clicking his tongue like a parent at an errant child. Redrick gurgled out a horrified breath and staggered backwards, the sword scraping out of the puncture it’d put in his breastplate with a sick squelch. “I am not interested in playing with you today, Redrick.”

With that he kicked Redrick backwards, and the paladin toppled onto the floor, blood pouring out of the back of his armor.

Alfo reached into his belt pouch and pulled out another weapon, a blade, long and sharp and pointed on the sides like a saw. He lashed forwards and caught the dark Val’s sword as he flicked it up again.

“Death,” Alfo hissed, and Tam felt the twist of magic. “You don’t belong here!” No, that wasn’t working. “You’re – you…”

“Go on?” the dark Val said, raising his eyebrows.

“Your eyes look ridiculous and your hair is…. oily, and flaxen!”

The dark Val honestly looked more surprised than anything. “…what?”

With a grunt, Alfo shoved him back, and Tam raised his staff, running through what spells he could possibly use in this situation.

The dark Val stumbled for a moment, and Alfo swung at him. It made a solid hit against his torso, but there was some type of… armor, perhaps, in his clothing, because the sword did not cut through.

“I said, enough,” the dark Val said, and Tam’s hopes of possible victory were dashed in an instant as he lunged forward with his left hand and closed it around Alfo’s throat.

And ripped it out.

It took only seconds, but that was all he needed to tear Alfo’s life away in a gout of blood. Alfo pawed at it, tripping over his own feet, and was down in seconds. The dark Val tossed the chunks of flesh to the ground.

“No!” Val shouted, bringing Windsinger up.

“Wait,” Tam said, but it was too late; the dark Val turned and faced the real one, and in a smooth, complete motion, he whipped the blade up in his other hand and slipped it neatly between Val’s ribs, directly up and into where his heart beat.

_This isn’t right. This isn’t how this happens. This isn’t how he dies._

Val looked more startled than anything. “Oh,” he said, glancing down, and at this of all times tried humor. “That’s my sword.”

“Funny that you would think that,” his counterpart sighed, hefting the blade further into his body. Val let out a small, choked sound, face going soft and scared. He reached up and pawed at the blade with one hand, dropping Windsinger; it thumped to the carpet already soaked with Alfo’s blood. The dark Val lifted the real one with the sword in one arm, then turned his wrist and dumped him to the ground, where he flopped like a rag-doll and lay still.

The dark Val lowered the tip of his blade to the floor and spun it, resting his right hand on top of it. The other he brought to his mouth, where he delicately licked Alfo's blood from the back of his knuckles. “Would you like to draw this out?” he asked, looking up to Tam.

“…no,” Tam said, and stepped into the room.

* * *

 

When the dark Val killed him, he experienced the pain, but only for a few brief moments before he felt himself heave in a breath and open his eyes, staring at the ceiling of his little shack. He lay there for a moment before he began to hear sounds from outside – the soft chattering of swamp insects, and the murmur of the ravens he’d summoned the day before in the trees. Inside the shack when he cautiously looked from side to side were the little plants growing from the walls, the spiderwebs in the corners and mosses on the stone and insects skittering about by the edges of the walls.

It was a dream. It was only a dream.

_It was never just a dream._

The sunlight that slanted through the tree branches and splayed itself over the algae stew of the swamp water glittered; there was fog, yes, but only the scraps of mist that ordinarily hung over places like this, not the unnatural haze from Tam’s dream.

It was only a dream. But they are never, ever just dreams.

He sat up and shook his head, blinking, and when he moved to reach for his staff something caught his eye – his wrist, where the blood vessels ran underneath his skin. They should have been blue… but instead were black.

…highly abnormal.

Tam raised his wrist and peered at his own flesh – all of the little vessels and veins, in fact, were a deep black. As he watched they began to pale and fade back to their normal color, and he shivered.

He left his little house in a hurry and headed for the manor.

Servants had already begun preparations for the day; in fact, this was later than Tam normally awoke, and he found it somewhat disorienting. There was a breakfast underway when he stepped in, Val and Manny seated at the long table with some of the higher-ranking staff. Alfo was leaning against the wall, watching Shadow as she devoured something out of a bowl on the floor.

He peered closely at Val as he entered. He seemed to be... somewhat distraught, perhaps, but not overtly dismayed.

But the mood in the room was tense. Val nodded to Tam and said nothing; Alfo glanced over but remained quiet.

“Hey,” Alfo said, “I had a just… really messed-up dream.”

“Is that so?” Val began, and his voice was sharper than normal. “Pretty sure mine’s worse!”

“Yeah?”

“I got killed by myself, so.” Val shrugged.

Everyone went quiet. Val glanced around at the table. “…what. What is it.”

“Did you kill me first?” Alfo asked.

“…I – um, yes. Well, I didn't, but - the other one did. Kill you.”

“And Redrick,” Tam said, quietly, seating himself at the table and leaning his staff against the edge. “He was the first to die, after he and I entered from the grounds.”

“What the fuck,” Val said.

“This was not a dream,” Tam murmured.

Val tapped his fork on the table a few times, pale and nervous. “Cool,” he finally said. “Great. What the _fuck_ happened?”

“We all had the same dream.” Alfo pushed off the wall and wandered up to the table, seating himself. “Same bad dream.”

_It is never just a dream._

“Mist,” Tam said out loud, “and violence. Undead.” He paused. “And a piano song.”

“I recognize the song,” Val murmured. “It’s one I know, from... it's one I know. He – the other me – was playing it when we went and found him. That’s what I noticed first. The song. Um, why the _fuck_ did we all have a dream about another version of me killing us all?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Manny, with a shrug. “I had a dream, but you weren’t in it, and, like, it wasn’t interesting.”

“Yeah, where _were_ you?” Alfo asked, frowning at him.

“I had a dream in a tower. Everything was really foggy, so maybe it was the same dream. I only saw mist out the window.”

“A tower?” Val frowned. “I woke up in my room, where I went to sleep. Did everyone else?”

Tam and Alfo nodded; Manny only shrugged silently.

“So you sat around in a tower and then woke up?” Alfo asked, into the silence.

“No, I died too,” Manny said.

“What?” Val raised his head and stared at him, perplexed.

“I fireballed the inside of the room.”

“Why.”

“I got bored.”

 “And you didn’t think about the consequences?”

“Well, time stopped passing, so I figured it wasn’t real,” Manny said, with a shrug.

“Hell of a chance you took,” Alfo grumbled.

“A bit, yeah,” Val agreed, glancing over.

“I’m fine now, aren’t I?” Manny said, gesturing at himself.

Val flipped the fork around in his fingers and tapped the round end on the table. “Sure, sure. Well, I’m quite glad that at least _you_ avoided death by me, and decided on immolation suicide instead. That really doesn’t help me understand what the _fuck_ is going on.”

“How do you mean?” Redrick strolled into the room and tossed a file of papers down on the table as he passed behind Val’s chair.

“Oh, just collective dreams about another version of me killing everyone,” Val said, rolling his eyes. “Nothing to be alarmed about.”

“You wake up in an alternate reality too?” Redrick sighed. “It’s been happening to everyone here for the last…. oh, few weeks, really.”

“ _What._ ”

“Yeah. You get lost, or you die, and when you wake up your blood’s black for a little bit and then it’s fine.” He shook his head. “It’s been a bit of a toll on the staff, to be honest.”

“Nobody, uh…” Val tossed the fork down and folded his arms. “Nobody’s tried to, I don’t know,  _resolve_ this issue?”

“What are we supposed to do? It’s just dreams.”

“It’s not,” Tam said, out loud.

Redrick sighed. “Of course you’d say something like that,” he muttered. “Well, I don’t know what it is, then.”

“And who would?” Val paused. “Wait, do we have anyone who might? On my staff, I mean.”

“Take a look at the registry again,” Redrick said, gesturing to the papers he’d dropped on the table, “and find out.”

Val opened up the folder and began to search through it while Redrick sidled up to the table helped himself to some of the morning’s bounty. “No,” the paladin muttered, to Shadow, who stalked up to his side and stared longingly at his plate.

“Suppose we could ask a few of these,” Val said, and then Alfo slapped both hands down on the table and stood.

“I think,” he said, “that the reason everyone’s so _dour_ is ‘cause of these dreams, and these dreams are because everyone’s so glum.”

“Interesting hypothesis,” Manny said.

“What this place _really_ needs,” Alfo continued, “is a party.”

“Last time we had a party, some of us nearly died,” Val pointed out, without looking up from the papers.

“I mean a _real_ one!” Alfo said, rolling his eyes. “A real party. A good one, that we’re in charge of. With less death, and bank robbery.”

Val dropped the sheet he was looking at and glanced up. “I would be overjoyed if that worked,” he said, voice scratchy with hints of tiredness. “And I give you full, free reign of the entire estate to try and set up such a thing, if you like.”

“I _would_ like,” Alfo said, rubbing his hands together.

“That’s your new job. Party planner.” Val glanced down to the papers again. “Redrick, we must add it to the registry.”

Another party. The last one had _not_ gone well for them, Tam remembered, and resisted the urge to touch his fingertips to his throat. The anti-magic collar from before… and Alfo’s uncle, burned alive in the furnace…

But this wasn’t some strange Underdark city; this was Val’s estate, and it was safe here. Nobody would kidnap him in his sleep and try to murder him.

“You plan the party,” Val said, looking to Alfo, “and then run the plans past Redrick so that he can make sure we don’t break anything or do anything… ridiculous.”

“I’ll make sure,” Redrick said, hastily swallowing whatever he had been chewing.

“Good.” Val nodded. “I’m going to go look around and see if I can find some information about what the _hell_ is going on around here with the dreams.”

“Good luck,” Alfo said, pushing his chair back. He whistled, and Shadow left off begging at Redrick’s chair and trotted over to him, tail wagging. They left the room, Alfo continuing to whistle to himself.

“Well, he at least is in a good mood,” Manny commented.

“Mm. If any of you would like, I’m going to go see what I can find out.” Val tapped the papers, then closed the folder and tucked it under one arm.

Tam went with him, as did Manny, though the first person they tried – Val’s Thieves Guild contact, a suspiciously pleasant halfling named Aunty Taryn – knew absolutely nothing about the entire ordeal. She _did_ know that Val’s family was alive and well, though, which was a piece of information he seemed to be grateful to learn.

Their second try was Adder Goldcrest, a nobleman from New Crest who was to serve as Val’s official contact in amongst the upper class.

“Hmm,” he said. “Dark things in the dreams. Don’t know what that’s about.”

“Great!” Val let out a disgusted huff of air. “Well, we’ll be –“

“Though,” Adder interrupted, “this estate does have some dark history.”

“…go on.”

They’d caught him in the library; he leaned on a reading desk and folded his arms. “A while back, about… two hundred fifty years or so? The family that owned the estate – at the time, of course – ah, the lady of the house was a sorceress. She turned her husband into a vampire to keep him from dying of a terrible disease, but the curse drove him mad, and he killed her, and every one of his servants, and his own son and daughter.”

“…not optimal,” Val muttered.

Adder nodded. “He terrorized the area for years until he was killed. By none other than Dagug Goldseeker!”

“The king of the dwarves?” Val frowned. “Why him?”

“He was the closest nearby of anyone who was strong enough to do it,” Adder said.

The story was true; the third informant they tracked down, an ex-Seeker named Wysafiel, confirmed the tale.

They found her in one of the towers of the estate, in a small study-observatory room. She was peering through a telescope out at the grounds when they entered.

“Excuse the interruption,” Val said, as he knocked on the open wooden door. “Wysafiel?”

“That’s me,” she called, without moving. “Hold on.”

They stayed still for a moment, and then she pulled her head back, made a mark on a piece of paper she was carrying, and set it on the desk before hurrying over. “Ah! Our new baron,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “What can I do for you?”

Tam narrowed his eyes. She was an ice elf, probably almost a foot shorter than Val, with white hair and clear blue eyes. She was pale, like many ice elves, with her hair pulled back to keep it out of her face, except for two sections that hung down just in front of her pointed ears. Her clothes were somewhere between ‘charming rogue’ and ‘irritated librarian,’ dark blue and black and white, and embroidered tunic and half-cloak over white leather boots and darker blue pants.

“I’m looking for information,” Val said. “You may have some.”

“Depends on what you’re looking for.”

“One: did a vampire live here a while back, and die to Dagug Goldseeker? A vampire who killed his entire household? And two: _what_ is going on with the dreams everyone’s been having?”

“One: yes,” Wysafiel said, leaning on a support pole at the top of the stairs. “I don’t remember the vampire’s name, but he did slaughter every member of his family and every unfortunate servant in the building. No one got out alive. Two: maybe. I have a theory. I tried to trace the location of the… effect, and I got it to here. This location.”

“The estate?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Do you think it’s cursed?”

“Gosh, I hope not,” Wysafiel said, snorting. “Would make for a rough time living here.”

Val sighed. “It would figure that I inherit a really cool estate only to find out the place is cursed," he muttered. "Well, do you know what can we do to _stop_ these dreams?”

“That, I’m not sure of,” Wysafiel said. “It would depend on whether or not my theory is correct. Now, they did only start a couple weeks above, before you arrived. Did something happen then? As far as I know, nothing did, except for… well, that was just before you replaced the Eye of the Sunwatchers.”

Tam glanced to Val. “We left the Underdark,” he said.

“Yes, we did, and then Syl teleported us all to Elder Vale – oh, do you suppose it has something to do with the dragon?”

“The entropy dragon,” Tam mused, but Wysafiel held out her hand.

“Hold on,” she said, “did you say someone teleported you to Elder Vale? A few weeks ago?”

“Yes…?”

“Did they use a circle of teleportation? This is important.”

“No,” Val said, frowning. “He just waved his hand and we were somewhere else.”

“That can’t be true,” Wysafiel protested. “The Eye of the Sunwatchers was still missing then. Nobody could have cast a spell that powerful, to take you all there.”

“Tell that to Syl,” Val muttered.

“Another thing. Who did it? The casting, the spell.”

“Syl?” Val frowned. “Syllaris Spellweaver?”

“I’ve never heard the name,” Wysafiel said, frowning.

“He’s an elf, he runs the library in Elder Vale.” Val looked over to Tam, worried. “He – he sponsored us for Heroes’ Day. Back at the festival! _Apparently_ fifteen years ago!”

“He definitely does not,” Wysafiel countered. “I know who runs that library, and there’s no Syllaris Spellweaver. That’s not a name I’ve ever heard. In fact, I don’t actually know of any family who carries the name Spellweaver at all.”

“For the love of the gods,” Val said.

 _How? What had that elf done?_ Tam frowned at the floor.

“Alright,” Val said, “then I suppose you don’t know anything about the missing fifteen years, the apparent _other versions of us_ that are just… somewhere out there, and – god, what else has changed?” Val rubbed his forehead with one hand. “Are we in a different plane or something? Another one, just like ours, but with the time all wrong?”

No one answered him. “Damn,” Val muttered, wandering towards the windows and looking out over the grounds. “Where did this start? With Syl? With the dragon? With the orcs?”

“Orcs?” Wysafiel said, raising an eyebrow.

“Alfo made a deal with an orc shaman who then laid siege to Sindaleth and then after that used his weird dark magic to steal a dying dragon which some drow summoned as a dracolich when we were trying to leave the Underdark,” Val said.

“…There's a lot to unpack there," Wysafiel said slowly. "I don’t know much about happenings in the Underdark, but I do know that no one has laid siege to Sindaleth. Not since the war with the empire, anyway.”

“For fuck’s sake.”

“You may have time traveled,” Wysafiel mused, “but that has little to no connection to the dreams unless…”

She trailed off. Val raised both eyebrows. “Unless?”

“Unless you switched to an entirely different timeline, a different one from the one you were in before. Which is… technically possible, but has never been done on purpose, as far as I know.”

“I – I don’t even know what that means,” Val said, quietly.

Wysafiel sighed. “If that’s the case, there’s no fixing it, unless you find whoever did it and get them to reverse it. And I have no idea who did it. Regardless, I don’t think it’s really connected to the dreams.”

Val shook his head. “Well… okay, no, you’ve gotten me confused. I came in here to ask about the dreams. You said you had an idea of what they could be?”

“Yes! My theory.” Wysafiel almost visibly lit up. “It’s been a difficult one for me personally to prove because, well, I don’t sleep, so I don’t experience these dreams that everyone’s been talking about. But _you_ might be able to do it.”

“Okay, go on,” Val said, barely containing his impatience.

Wysafiel did not seem to notice his irritation. “In some parts of the world, different planes overlap with the material plane.”

_She’s… right. She’s right, yes._

“Now, they don’t _directly_ intersect with each other, because the Material Plane is special, and doesn’t do that. But you can more easily travel from one to the other – either on purpose, or completely on accident.” She grinned. “I believe that this estate overlaps with part of the Shadowfell.”

_Of course._

“Whatever that is, it doesn’t sound good,” Val muttered.

“It’s the darker, less friendly counterpart to the Feywild,” Wysafiel explained, crossing the room and lifting from a bookshelf a large globe, mapped out with the continents of the world and sporting an impressive number of curved metal arms that rotated and spun, each containing a crystalline disk of a different color. Wysafiel ignored those, but touched one of three large rings that encircled the globe: the black one (there was another, white, and another clear). “This is the Shadowfell.”

“… are you saying when we fall asleep we are crossing into a _different plane of existence?_ ”

“Yes,” Wysafiel said proudly, “and it’s called the Dreadmire.”


	23. Dreadmire

“The name of the place manages to sound truly awful in every way,” Val said, staring blankly at the globe.

“It does,” Wysafiel said brightly. “It’s supposed to. The way the Shadowfell mixes with the Material Plane and the minds of its inhabitants is very strange. This specific part – and many that have been encountered before – is a – this is a specific aspect of the Shadow, manifesting as someone’s worst fears.”

There was a moment of silence. “Well, hell,” Val said, after a moment. “Maybe Alfo’s party plan will actually work.”

“I doubt it,” Tam said immediately.

“You would.” Val sighed. “Any advice on how to _not_ end up transporting yourself to the Shadowfell every time you go to sleep?”

“Nope,” Wysafiel said, sitting on her desk. “Sorry.”

Val sighed. “Well, we have more information than we did before. I suppose that’s worth something.”

“Question,” Wysafiel said, pointing. “What’s that amulet of yours?”

“This?” Val glanced down; resting on his chest, overtop the buttons of his waistcoat, was Mitch’s amulet, blue wooden beads and turquoise and steel. “Oh, it’s a… it’s from a necromancer. Named Mitch. Mitch Barlow.” He paused. “You know, come to think of it, I haven’t seen him around lately.”

“He was with you?”

“He was tied to the amulet. Uh, he’s a ghost. He couldn’t go anywhere without it, and everywhere it went, he had to be there… where _is_ he?”

Wysafiel’s eyes shimmered for a moment, silvery-white. “There’s no ghost attached to that,” she said, glancing up. “If there ever was, he’s gone now.”

“Oh, what? Mitch is gone?” Val looked down to the amulet, dismayed. “That – I liked him!”

“Well, you should’ve told him that while he was here,” Wysafiel said.

“Harsh,” Val muttered, “but fair.”

“Listen. All you need to know about the Dreadmire is that you have to leave it, and try not to go there very often,” Wysafiel warned, voice going serious. “The Shadowfell has peculiar effects on those that end up there. The longer you stay, the harder it will be to resist its pull.”

“Noted,” Val said, and Tam glanced over and saw that he seemed shaken.

On their way back towards the main hall, Alfo intercepted them.

“No more wandering around talking to people,” he said, appearing out of a side hallway and startling Val. “We’re done with that. If my party plan is going to work, you need to go with it too.”

“And that means…?”

“Stop investigating and get to…. not-work,” Alfo said, fiercely.

“Alright, alright, fine.”

As much as Tam hated parties, and the idea of parties, he wasn’t about to sabotage Alfo’s plan. He was, however, going to stay to the side of the main event, where it was quieter.

He managed to keep away from the main ruckus – a ruckus that, according to Alfo’s pre-party announcement, would include “no shenanigans” – and out of the way, but he did end up interacting with a few people. Val, for one, swung by to chat with him, and he also found Pyria Gleamstride, the druid on the estate, also avoiding the hubbub.

“Oh,” she said, when Tam passed by the window she was sitting in, avoiding contact. “You.”

“Mm,” Tam said, nodding.

“Nice.”

“Thanks for the home.”

“You’re welcome.”

In spite of himself – and in accordance with Alfo’s wishes – Tam managed to have a tolerable, if not enjoyable time, though he preferred being in the woods and swamp over the festivities. He left a little early, heading out into the night. It was cold, being winter, but not freezing.

The moon was high and brilliant over the swamp as Tam passed beneath the trees, under the sleepy, shifting bodies of his ravens. The boardwalk creaked occasionally under his boots, sturdy and solid and whole, unlike the one in the Dreadmire. His little house was dark. Peaceful.

He entered his cabin and put aside his cloak and staff. He supposed it was unhelpful to think about the Dreadmire when the entire purpose of the party had been to put it out of people’s minds, but it was rather a difficult thing to ignore. And even if everyone _did_ forget about it, he wasn’t certain it would prevent them from waking up there.

He supposed they would see when he fell asleep. Someone in the manor was causing the Dreadmire to appear, and he was fairly certain it was Val. Perhaps, with him in such high spirits, they’d be safe.

Perhaps.

* * *

 

When he woke, it was to curls of mist outside the window, and utter silence otherwise – no creatures stirred, no water moved, no wind blew in the trees.

A quick step outside confirmed his fears: Alfo’s plan had failed, and he was in the Dreadmire again. Wysafiel’s words echoed. _The longer you stay, the harder it will be to resist its pull._

He remembered, however, all of the events of the day. Which meant that the others would, too… most likely. So all they had to do was avoid getting murdered by the dark Val, and they could perhaps find a way out.

As Tam hurried through the swamp, careful to avoid the broken boards of the walkway, he reached out to the area. There were creatures here, yes, but not the ones he was used to. He called them anyway.

It would take them time to arrive. Tam turned his attention to the grounds; if the dream was the same as last time, and he thought it might be, then Redrick would be out in the grounds, fighting off the undead.

_As I know it, so it shall be._

At the edge of the swamp he began to hear the sounds of combat. That was encouraging; that meant that, if things were the same, the dark Val would be in the drawing room of Tila playing the piano, and Val and Alfo could easily avoid him.

If they were smart enough to. If they were sneaky, and careful.

Through the mists, the dark, lurching forms of the undead appeared. Tam whipped his staff up and around, dispatching one of the soldiers.

Redrick, in the center of the group, whirled. “Tam?!”

“Hello,” Tam said, and turned around, letting the insects from his staff flow onto the body of the nearest soldier. The beetles devoured its rotting flesh in seconds.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Redrick said, astounded.

“Dreaming,” Tam said, and then Redrick had to turn around and bring down his greatsword again, with uncommon speed and strength. Even as aged and battered as he looked, he was still powerful.

Tam stepped back and let Redrick do most of the killing… or re-killing, rather. When the paladin slashed the last undead down and leaned, panting, on his blade, Tam stepped over to him and looked to the manor.

“Go to the trees and stay there,” he said. “Don’t do anything. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll get the others. Stay _put_ _._ ”

With that, Tam calmed himself, closed his eyes, and dissolved into a swarm of ravens, shooting up through the mist. He could easily enter the manor through the windows now, and perhaps a birds-eye view of the estate would help.

The mist thinned a little further up, but seemed to have a sort of roof; Tam entered the clear zone and looked down upon the entire estate. The white fog spread across the grounds, all the way to the borders; the town wasn’t included, and where the road led down to it the fog rose in a towering white wall and blocked off any access. Tam didn’t try it, but he was certain that any attempts to leave through the fog would be unsuccessful.

Additionally, there was a new feature on the grounds: to the southwest of the manor rose a tower, white stone and small windows, mist spiraling off its stairs. Ringing over the mist, ever so faintly at this distance, came the sound of a voice; a woman, singing.

As Tam watched, one of the windows near the top of the tower flashed with light, and then a blossom of fire burst out in the air. A few moments later, it happened again. Someone was shooting fireballs - or fire-somethings -  out the tower window.

_Wonder who that could be._

Tam wheeled about and headed for the manor. The piano’s meandering melody echoed through the hallways, but Tam ignored it, fluttering through one of the broken upstairs windows and landing on the floor, the birds whirling into his human form.

First, Val. He knew where the master quarters were; he hurried as silently as he could in that direction. The carpets were frayed and threadbare, and the paint and wallpaper were peeling off the walls. The door to Val’s quarters was half splinters, the surface scratched repeatedly with multiple sets of gouges like claw mars. The handle was tarnished; luckily, the door did not creak as Tam opened it and entered.

Val was laying on the bed, perfectly still. He had yet to awaken. Good. Tam hurried over and laid a hand on his shoulder.

He woke instantly. “What,” he said, and then blinked up. “Tam?”

“Dream,” Tam said

“Fuck.” Val sat up and glanced around. “Damn it. I was hoping – ah, shit.”

“Be silent. He is here.” Tam glanced out towards the hallway. The piano’s lilting melody continued. Val nodded, hopping off the bed and grabbing his cloak, and Windsinger, which hung in its special rack next to the bed. He moved swiftly, and without making any extraneous sound at all; even the act of slipping Windsinger onto his belt was silent.

Tam glanced towards the door. “We need Alfo. Redrick is out on the grounds.”

“He fucking died last time,” Val said. “And he freaked out and ran in.”

“He’s out there. He’s been instructed not to enter.”

“Do you think that’ll stop him?”

It probably wouldn’t; the manic hatred in his features from last dream flashed through Tam’s mind. “No. Don’t tell him the other you is here.”

“Right.”

They headed out and into the hallways, deliberately avoiding the main hallway and the parlor. The piano playing continued; it was beautiful, and flawless, but incredibly sad and… sinister?

Alfo’s quarters were completely dark, the stone crumbling and falling apart. Shadow’s bed was gone, and she was curled up on the cold floor, asleep. Alfo was laying on his bed, asleep, and Tam hurried over and tapped his shoulder with the end of the staff.

“Hah!” Alfo surged up immediately, swinging; Tam yanked the staff back and waited while he looked around. He stared at the room, then over at them. “…It didn’t work,” he finally said.

“Unfortunately, it seems that it didn’t,” Val said, with a sigh. “It was a very good idea, but someone is just too afraid.”

“It’s probably you,” Alfo said.

“That’s reasonable,” Val answered.

Alfo woke Shadow with a touch; she growled deep in her throat and stood, shaking dust and scraps of dead moss off her coat. “Best get to killing, then,” Alfo said, reaching for his battleaxe.

“No.” Tam shook his head.

Val glanced over. “Hmm?”

“There’s a tower out on the grounds.”

Val glanced over. “A tower?”

“White. Someone’s making fire from the windows.”

“Oh, I wonder who,” Val said, rolling his eyes. “We’ve found Manny.”

“So that’s where he is,” Alfo mused. “Hope he doesn’t kill himself this time.”

“Elsewise we might have to all die and then try this dream over again. I do _not_ want to do this a third time. Where are we going?”

“Redrick’s outside.”

“We should get him and head for the tower,” Val said, with a firm nod. “It’s got to be important somehow.”

They headed out the back of the manor, creeping by the parlor windows from where the piano music was emanating, and made their way to where Tam had left Redrick. To his mild surprise, the paladin was still there, waiting for them.

“You’re all here,” he said, when they appeared out of the fog. “All of you!”

“Yes,” Tam said. “What is the tower?”

“The… tower?” Redrick seemed taken aback, and instantly glanced in the tower’s direction. “It’s bad. Cursed.”

“What _is_ it, though?” Val cut in, stepping forwards. He was still eye-level with this version of Redrick, and even though he looked out of place in the mists of this corrupted place, he still emanated an aura of command. Redrick swallowed nervously.

“It’s cursed,” he repeated. “There’s terrible things inside it.”

“Well, our friend is also in it,” Val said, “so we’re going to go and get him. Come on.”

“No!” Redrick glanced towards it again. “It’s _terrible!_ You – you can’t go in there.”

“Redrick, I can, and I will,” Val said. “Are you going to help make it easier by coming with us through the grounds infested by undead, or are you going to stand here in the fog alone until you die?”

“Wow,” Alfo said, after a second.

“Okay, that was harsh,” Val said, “but seriously. We’re going to get Manny.”

That was that. They headed off through the mists, leaving the manor behind, and went towards the white tower. As they got closer, Tam saw another flare of light through the fog.

“What’s that?” Redrick asked, nervously.

“Manny!” Val said, delighted.

The closer they got to the tower, the louder the singing got. At first Tam was the only one who seemed to be able to hear it, but as they drew closer, Val suddenly drew in a sharp breath and stopped moving.

“What is it?” Alfo asked, glancing over to him.

“That voice,” Val said, staring at nothing. “I – I know it.”

“What?”

“I know her voice.” Val looked up. “I’d know it anywhere. Elya…”

“Who?”

“My cousin.” Val swallowed, looking into the mists. “She – I, she… she’s my favorite cousin. I mean. Up there with you, Tam – I taught her how to, um…” He trailed off, staring.

“Val?” Alfo said, after a long moment.

“Ah. I – yes. Sorry. I taught her how to climb trees and get out of lessons, and also some music. Called her a little rogue all the time.” Val shook his head, lowering his gaze; he clasped his hands behind his back, but Tam could see his grip on his wrist was tight enough to drive the color from his fingers. “What is she _doing_ here?”

“This is your nightmare,” Tam said. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t like this,” Val said.

They headed forwards, and the fog grew thicker. The sound of singing didn’t seem to get any louder; Tam knew, after a time, that they weren’t going forwards.

“This isn’t working,” he said clearly.

At that moment, something lurched out of the ditch to the side of the path. Alfo drew his axe immediately and charged it with Shadow; it was a zombie soldier, limbs broken, and Shadow leaped at it and dragged it to the ground, where Alfo decapitated it in one swift swing. Val opened his mouth to say something, but had to instead gasp and leap out of the way of a crossbow bolt that tore through the mist.

With that, they began to see the undead soldiers that were making their way towards the tower, though most of them were too hard to see through the mist.

The group held still. “Where are they going?” Val hissed, eyes flicking around to the undead soldiers. They seemed to be unaware of the presence of living bodies unless they moved or made a great deal of sound. “Why are they headed for the tower?”

“I don’t know,” Tam said.

“Is the mist getting thicker?” Alfo said, frowning.

It seemed to be. What had been a haze out on the grounds was now a dense, impassible fog, swirling around them so thickly that Tam could barely see Redrick just a few feet away from him. The feeling of magic lay heavy on the pathway.

“We can’t go to the tower,” Redrick repeated, as quietly as he could while still audible. “The mist prevents it.”

“We need Manny,” Val snapped back, “and if my cousin is in there, I need to know why. I need to get her out. She doesn’t belong in this dream.”

“You can’t _get_ to her!”

“Fucking watch me,” Val snarled, and turned, stepping into the mist. For a second his outline was still visible, and then he vanished entirely.

_What is he doing?_

The plaintive tones of Elya’s song thrummed through the mist. After a few seconds, they were joined by a second sound – the gentle plucking of Val’s harp, resonating, and then his voice, raised. The song was in Common, but the words were too hard to discern.

As Val pitched his voice into harmony with Elya, Tam noticed, the fog began to thin, ever so slightly. Then he stopped with a yelp and darted backwards out of the haze, nearly smacking into the group, as a skeleton came at him with a sword.

“Shit!” he squeaked, dashing past Alfo. The skeleton charged forwards, but Alfo caught it with a heavy swing of his axe and sent it clattering to the ground in a shower of bones.

“What were you doing?” Redrick said, eyes wide. “You made the mist change…”

“I – I think Elya’s song has something to do with the mist,” Val said, “but I can’t fucking _sing_ with her without getting attacked.”

“We’ll defend you,” Alfo said instantly. “Do it.”

With that, Val straightened up and cocked his head to the side, then began to join in again, first humming, then singing along to Elya’s tune. The harp wove the underlying structure of the song while he sang the harmony.

And the fog began to lift.

Immediately, the undead that had been lurching towards the tower turned towards him. But this time, Alfo charged forwards with Shadow, and Redrick on Val’s other side stepped up with his sword flaring bright in the mist. Tam stayed behind him.

Val began to slowly step towards the tower, walking calmly along the path. He did not falter; as the undead threw themselves at him, he flinched but didn’t falter, trusting that his companions would protect him.

_His voice holds power. His songs carry strength unlike any other…_

He kept going. The mist got thinner as they went – Tam began to see the shapes of undead further away, but as he did, they also began to see and hear the group, and turn towards them.

Terrible. But perhaps they could take them as they came and get through safely.

Another fireball bloomed overhead, and even from here Tam could feel the heat. He put his head down and focused on keeping Val safe.

The undead grew stronger as they went, but they weren’t trying to sneak around anymore; Val was striding confidently now, and the rest of the party was whirling around him, trying to keep up. Tam lashed one way and the next with his staff, though he acutely missed the presence of his swarm. That was his best weapon, and it was gone.

Never mind that. The mist whipped away from the battlefield as if driven by a wind. Alfo and Redrick slashed down two rotting corpses in unison, blades flashing in the diffuse light, and Val stepped between them, heading for the tower.

“They’re coming!” Tam heard someone shout from above – yes, that was Manny’s voice. But who was he talking to? “Can we help them?”

No answer that Tam could hear at the moment; he kept his staff out, the insects buzzing around him, devouring the flesh of the rotting bodies that came for him and for Val.

Tam caught out of the corner of his eye a flicker of movement – a wispy, ragged figure came tearing through the fog, shrieking at the top of its lungs. Alfo met it halfway with his weapons, slashing it down. It dissolved into a pile of ash on the ground.

“Keep it up!” Redrick shouted, and Alfo promptly turned around and began to eat the heap of disintegrated remains.

_Sure._

Redrick swore to himself and took his own blade to the approaching undead.

The song – the one they’d been hearing this whole time, the one that Val had said was being sung by Elya – took a turn that Tam hadn’t heard it take before. It pitched up, and Val went with it.

The mist was gone by the time they reached the base of the tower, and as they did so, the song turned in on itself and ended. Elya’s voice rang out in one last note and went silent, echoing through the fog; Val stared up towards the top of the tower, expression indiscernible.

Alfo staggered up to them through the mist. He looked a little embarrassed, but in one hand held a large gemstone, which he offered to Tam. Tam shook his head; Alfo shrugged and shoved the gem into one of his pockets.

The tower was smooth, and glistening white with black windows open at several levels. Tam squinted at them; from one of them, he could see movement. As he watched Manny leaned out the window.

“Hey!” he called, waving. “You made it!”

“So this is where you’ve been,” Alfo said.

“Yeah.”

“Good thing you didn’t kill yourself this time.”

Redrick glanced over. “What?!”

“Don’t worry about it,” Alfo said, coughing to hide a laugh.

“Where’s Elya?” Val shouted up, to Manny.

“Who?”

“My cousin!”

“I haven’t seen a cousin,” Manny yelled down, frowning. “What does it look like?”

“I’m going inside,” Val announced.

Redrick grabbed his arm as he started forwards, pulling Val to a halt. “Please,” he hissed, through his teeth. “It’s dangerous. You don’t know what’s in there.”

“My fucking cousin, that’s what,” Val snarled, and wrenched his arm free. His eyes burned. “You cannot, and _will_ not, stop me.”

Redrick stood where he was, dropping his hand. His expression had been filled with fear; now, it was also full of sorrow. “No,” he said softly, “I can’t.”

Val turned and headed for the door.


	24. Bloodsong

Val shifted his harp around to his back and put one hand on the door handle. The door to the tower was made of some sort of dark wood, rotting slowly, looking pulpy and slime-covered in some places. A few parts of it had been so broken-apart that Tam could see the darkened interior of the tower through the gaps.

“I’m coming, Elya,” Val murmured, quietly, and yanked on the door. It didn’t open; he wrenched on it again, then braced one boot on the doorframe and pulled. This time, the door shuddered in its frame, then finally – the wood swollen and scraping – came loose, swinging outwards. “Finally,” he muttered, and then shrieked and threw himself backwards and to the side. Alfo, behind him, reflexively put his shield up – a smart move, because a smooth, black dart of some type came whizzing out of the tower and embedded itself into the sturdy oak wood.

“The hell is this?” Alfo said, staring down at it.

“A trap,” Val growled, pulling himself up out of the wet grass, and peered inside. “Must be a – yes, there’s a trigger on the door. Couldn’t see it from this side.”

“Can you fix it?”

“It’s broken already,” Val said, rolling his eyes. “It won’t trigger again.” He stepped confidently forwards into the room.

He didn’t cry out again, so he must have been right about the trap. Tam followed him in, squinting to try and see in the darkness.

The room appeared to be in ruins. There were bookshelves, falling apart, and a desk sitting up against the curved wall in one spot that had the ruins of a chair next to it and one drawer missing. Aside from that, it was too shadowy to see easily in the room; Val flipped his mask down and stepped quickly over to a mechanism against the wall, a box of some sort with a crossbow mounted atop it.

“It’s full of these spikes,” he murmured. “I’m taking a few.”

“Okay,” Alfo said, because nobody else was saying anything.

Redrick stepped inside, visibly uncomfortable, and brought forth a lantern that shed a soft, pale light over the floor and walls. It was a cold light, whiteish-blue, and Tam couldn’t see the source within the frosted glass that was producing it.

The room _was_ in ruins. Tam could see small insects buzzing around in here – no, those had come in with him. He held out his hand, curious, and one landed on it. It seemed to be a half-transparent mosquito, wings a glittering smoky gray, form like a tiny clear glass vial.

Interesting. He blew on it, and it took flight again and vanished.

As he looked up, something made a soft chiming sound on Val’s belt. He glanced down to the pouches there, frowning, then reached into one and came up with a softly glowing stone, smooth and round but not spherical. “Hello?” he said, frowning at it.

“Hey!” came a voice from the stone, whispered. “You’re in the bottom of the tower, right?”

“Who is this?” Val asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Listen. On the floor above you – um, there’s an artifact there, and it’s…” the speaker took a breath. “It’s not great, I’ll tell you that. It’s ah, uh… well, I’ll explain when you get up here. It’s bad. The Penitent is tied to it, sort of.”

“Are you talking about the dark version of me?” Val snapped.

“Yes, that’s the one,” the speaker said. “I know who you are, too. I’m aware of both realities. Manny told me.”

“Who _are_ you?”

“Just come upstairs. He and I are on the third floor; I can explain more then, okay? Just – be careful in the next room. It’s bad in there.”

“Fine.”

The stone went dark. Val looked up, glaring through the glass lenses of his goggles at the rest of the group. “I guess we should go upstairs, then, hm?” he growled, and in the darkness and the pale light, his fury burned cold, and it reminded Tam of the darker version of him.

He turned and swept towards the stairs, cloak billowing behind him as he went.

“Be careful,” Tam called, on impulse.

Val actually faltered in his steps, glancing back over his shoulder. “I – yeah, of course,” he said, frowning. “Why would I not be?”

“This changed the other you. Make sure it doesn’t change you.” Tam stopped speaking abruptly.

Val opened his mouth and shut it again, then nodded. That coldness was gone, now, and he looked a bit nervous.

_Much better. Much less dangerous. For him, and for all of us._

They headed up. Val was first up the stairs. The door leading into the next room was heavy and made of some type of dark gray metal – Val couldn’t push it open.

He listened at it. “I don’t hear anything,” he said, then held up a hand. “Wait. No. Something just, um… dripped?”

_That is not good. That’s never been good._

Val stepped aside, casting a worried glance to Tam, and let Alfo ram his shoulder into the door several times until it finally grated open, inch by inch. Val hurried through - but when he stepped out into the next room, he stopped so sudden and still that Tam actually bumped into him and had to pause, glancing up.

This room was barren, and dark, and held one very obvious and very unnerving feature. The floor dipped down slightly, towards the center of the room, and a slick, dark puddle of blood collected on the stone.

Above the puddle, hanging from the ceiling on a wire-thin string, was a huge, heavy gold cross, thick and gleaming, surface smooth and streaked with blood. The red collected at the lowest point of the cross, swelling into a fat droplet, which fell into the pool with an audible plop every half-minute or so.

Tam looked to his cousin. Val opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again. His gaze drifted up. Tam glanced back to the cross.

Fastened to the top point of the cross was a small bundle of pure white hair, shorn from someone’s head. It was stuck to the metal, tucked through the band of a ring.

Carefully, Val stepped forward, though he – and Tam – already knew what the ring was. It was gold, and the face of it was an enamel symbol, a white hart over a red river: the Redwyne family signet.

Val looked like he might be sick. “What the fuck,” he finally managed, staring at it.

Redrick and Alfo came up into the area, and Alfo fully had to fall to one knee, one hand on Shadow’s shoulders and one on the stone floor. He grunted to himself and Val glanced over, eyes wide. Beside him, Redrick fixed his eyes on the cross, then lowered his gaze, passing one hand in front of his face.

 _It hungers,_ Tam thought, then swallowed. _No. Not hunger. Thirst. It wants to devour, consume, drink. It seeks blood._

Like his cloak did – he’d been pressing pricks of blood onto it occasionally, to feel the curls of satisfaction and satiation that rippled through it when it was fed. But this was not a peaceful thing that desired only occasional tribute. This was something entirely different… its thirst could not be slaked.

The room was silent.

“We need to keep going,” Val said quietly, and looked for the stairs. They were on the other side of the room; he edged around the puddle, keeping his back pressed against the wall, and made his way over. The rest of the group followed him as quietly as they could. Alfo pulled himself up and kept his fingers curled around Shadow’s collar. Redrick’s eyes were fixed on the cross as he moved around near the wall, the

“Move, move, move,” Val hissed, and slipped sideways into the stairwell on the far side of the room, lean form trembling ever so slightly. He hurried up. Above them was a wooden door, which he pushed – and to Tam’s surprise, it opened easily. Light poured down through.

Light was good. The rest of the group followed him up, leaving the bleeding artifact behind. Val waited by the door and slammed it shut as soon as Redrick, holding up the rear of the group, had stepped through.

Then he turned and looked into the room. Tam turned as well, towards its inhabitants.

Of which there were two. One was Manny, sitting on the windowsill, tossing a potion in one hand. “Hey,” he said, waving with his free hand.

The other was an elf, a wood elf, rather old and clad in a set of blue-purple robes embroidered in places with black thread. He had a kindly face, and gentle eyes, and the barest fuzz of hair on his head. Most importantly, however, he looked familiar.

Val gaped at him. “… _Mitch?!”_

“Hi there,” Mitch Barlow said, looking up from where he was standing at a standing-desk with an open book on it. He stepped out and hurried over, holding out one hand to Val, who was taller than him now that he wasn’t floating. “It’s me.”

“You’re alive now??”

“Um…” Mitch glanced down at himself. “No, I don’t think so. Well. I mean, I sort of am… It’s this realm. It does things.”

“That’s so weird,” Val muttered, looking him up and down. “That’s so weird!” He seemed to have gotten over his scare in the lower room.

“Yeah, I know,” Mitch said, shaking his head. “It’s real strange. Uh, hey, can I have my amulet back?”

“Oh, sure,” Val said, and pulled the old amulet off his neck. He handed it to Mitch, who took it and draped it carefully around his own neck.

He took a breath, and seemed to suddenly be even more solid and present. When he opened his eyes, they held a depth of color Tam hadn’t seen in them before. “Wow, thanks,” he said, looking to the amulet’s pendant and up again. “That… thank you so much. I’m whole again!”

“Do you _live_ here?” Val asked, glancing around. “Is that what you do now?”

“Um, sort of,” Mitch said. “I keep seeing you guys pop in and out of this realm, along with a lot of other people, though they’re in like… different copies of it. You guys are the only ones here.”

“And Redrick,” Val said.

“Right, him too,” Mitch said, glancing over to the paladin.

“Okay, so, there’s a, like… Hell me,” Val said, after a moment. “How do we get out of here in a way that isn’t him killing us?”

“Ah. The Penitent.” Mitch nodded. “So, here’s the story on that.”

“Do tell,” Val growled, folding his arms and leaning against the wall. Occasionally his gaze would flick over to the door leading down, and he’d wrench it back towards Mitch and the others. Tam shifted position slightly until he stood between the door and Val.

“The Penitent was… hired by Olivia Forde to steal something. To pay off his debt, you see.”

_Debt?_

“So _that’s_ how he did it,” Val muttered.

“What debt,” Alfo said, frowning.

“Student loans,” Mitch said. Val rubbed his forehead. The necromancer continued. “Olivia had him steal the cross from a noble house in the Vale, which he could do really easily, only… it cursed him. He couldn’t resist it – he was alone, and had no way to know that it was dangerous. He was unprepared, and it turned him into… what he is now. He went mad, just like the old vampire of Tila, and killed his whole family.”

“I’m sorry, what,” Val said, dead-voiced.

“He killed them all.” Mitch looked up. “His family.”

“He killed my family.”

“…yes.”

Val was silent. He swallowed, took a shaky breath, and said, “And – and Elya? She doesn’t live… she’d hide. She’d run from danger. I always told her to run from danger.”

“She tried to stop him,” Mitch said softly. “She stood between him and the rest of them. He… didn’t stop.”

“So she’s. She’s dead.”

“Yes.”

“Then why was she _singing_ just now?”

Mitch fidgeted with one sleeve hem. “Ah,” he said. “Um, that’s because of me.”

Again, Val was silent.

“I – ah – he kept trying to kill me, so I… I’m very sorry. I... raised her as a banshee because her singing keeps him away from the tower.”

“You fucking what,” Val hissed, and half-drew Windsinger before Manny leaped forward and put one hand on his wrist, the other on his shoulder.

“Stop,” Manny hissed, into Val’s ear. “This is – he had to. _He had to._ ”

Val stood totally still, but didn’t draw Windsinger any further. Manny let him go and stepped back.

“Where is she,” Val said, brittle and monotone. “I want to speak with her.”

“I’m really not sure that’s a good idea,” Mitch said.

“I don’t _care_ what you think is a good idea or not,” Val snapped. “You used necromancy on my family. Your opinion is worthless. Where. Is. My. Cousin.”

“…up,” Mitch finally said, wilting. “Up on the roof. She casts her mist from there.”

Val slipped Windsinger back into the sheath fully, turned, and headed across the room, to the stairs. “Do not come with me,” he said, and no one did. He vanished up them in a billow of scarlet.

Mitch turned to the rest of the group, letting out a breath. “Oh, man,” he sighed, “I hope _that_ doesn’t go badly.”

“You raised his dead cousin as an undead?” Alfo wrinkled his nose. “That’s kind of fucked up.”

“I had no choice! It’s the only thing that kept _him_ away from the tower.” Mitch glanced out, towards the manor, worried. “He may come for me now.”

Tam turned away while Mitch spoke to Alfo and Manny – and Redrick, though the paladin seemed mostly uncomfortable, and seemed to be not quite listening.

Those little insects were still with him – gossamer wings, light as ash flakes, barely visible. But there were many of them now, fluttering around him in a shimmering cloud. They were beautiful, in their own way, though he could sense that they reeked of the dark aura of this place.

They looked almost like mosquitoes, of a type. He let a few of them perch on his outstretched hand and watched one sink its proboscis into his skin. It hurt, but not very much. He didn’t move, watching it grow more present, less ethereal. Intriguing.

Mitch was still speaking; Tam heard him say “door” and tuned back in.

“There’s a door in the family crypt,” Mitch said. “It’s how you leave this place. But… it’s guarded.”

“The door is wood and the stone around it is carved,” Tam said, out loud.

“…yes,” Mitch said, glancing over to him. Tam shook the mosquitoes off his hand and slipped it back under his cloak. “How’d you know?”

“I saw it.” Tam frowned. “It’s guarded?”

“By a gravehulk,” Mitch affirmed, with a nod, and then took a breath. “The gravehulk is, uh. It’s… well, uh… It’s made out of… corpses. The bodies of his family. To be specific.”

“Did you make that too?” Alfo asked.

“No! That happened on its own. O-or because he did it. I had _nothing_ to do with that.”

“Wow, that’s messed up,” Manny said, brightly. He glanced around. “How the heck do we defeat that?”

“I don’t know,” Mitch said. “I haven’t even been able to get near it to look at it, let alone fight it. It’s far too powerful and notices me from far away. Anyway, I haven’t wanted to leave the tower, because _he’s_ out there.”

“We need as much help as we can get,” Alfo said. “Come with us.”

“Ah… no.”

Manny glanced around. “Hey, uh, Oghma,” he said, “got any tips?”

There was a sharp _thwack_ and one of the books on the shelf most opposite the room suddenly toppled off, falling spine-first to the floor and flopping open. There was an illustration on it – Manny glanced to Tam, then hurried towards it. Tam followed.

It lay open to a full two-page spread drawing. Tam crouched down and peered at it.

The background of the pages was unmarked. In the foreground stood four figures – one cloaked, one wearing a half-cape, one short with an axe, and one taller with flames in his hands.

_That’s us._

Before the Night Guard stretched a long, winding pathway, leading up a jagged mountain. It was wider than mountains ordinarily were, the point rather blunt, and the path juked up towards its peak.

Behind the mountain – and on it, clinging to its slopes – was a dragon, wings taking up most of the pages. Its horns curved around and fused behind its head, and in the hole they formed hung a black orb, shimmering. The dragon’s form was black and nebulous, splattered with patches of vibrant color and speckled with stars. Where its eyes should have been there were instead brilliant gleams of stellar light.

“What is _that?_ ” Manny asked, hushed.

“I don’t know,” Tam answered, because clearly he wanted an answer. He brushed his fingertips over the page; the art here had been drawn, clearly, but he didn’t know by who. It _looked_ like his brush-strokes, the way he moved his pencils when he drew. But he had never drawn this, or seen it, ever. Strange.

There was a sound at the stairs. Tam glanced over and saw, very slowly, Val descending, face unreadable. “Don’t be alarmed,” he called down to everyone; one hand was held behind him. “Just – just don’t.”

“Will they?” whispered a quiet voice.

“I don’t think so,” Val said. “Or, at least, they shouldn’t be.”

Descending behind Val, one hand in his, was a wispy figure, half-visible. Her clothes were ragged and torn; her face was a ruined, rotting mess, her hair floating behind her as if she were underwater. But her voice was sweet, and familiar; it was the same voice that had been singing. This was Elya.

Val stepped into the room and down, glancing around at everyone. Alfo blinked hard a few times and looked down, digging his fingers into Shadow’s scruff, then up again, nodding to himself.

Mitch swallowed nervously.

“It’s okay,” Elya called, to him. “I understand why you did this to me.”

“That – now I feel _really_ bad,” Mitch muttered.

Val held onto Elya’s hand with both of his. “We’ll get out of here, I promise,” he said, looking directly into her eyes. They were transparent, like the rest of her, shedding a faint light, and her face had been shredded by claws and half-rotted before she’d been brought back. Somehow, Val was looking past all this. “And then we can all go home.”

“I’d like that,” Elya said softly.

“All we have to do is get to the door, right?” Manny said. “And out.”

“Right,” Mitch said. “Try to avoid him. He’s out there somewhere. I know he was in the mansion – he spends a lot of time in the manor – but you might encounter him elsewhere if you’re unlucky.”

“We’ll find out,” Val muttered. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“You go on,” Mitch said. “I’m going to stay here.”

“Don’t want to come back to the real world?” Val asked.

“Why would I? I’m dead there,” Mitch replied. “Here I’ve got a body, and servants, and a tower. I’ll stay, thanks.”

“It’s so miserable here!”

“It’s more miserable being dead. Um – no offense.” Mitch flicked his gaze over to Elya nervously.

“None taken,” she sighed.

Elya went with them. Val led them back down out of the tower, past the dripping cross – which everyone tried to keep their eyes off of, though Tam noticed Redrick had to hiss and cover his face as they went by – and out into the grounds. The horde of undead that had been heading for the tower was gone now, mostly destroyed in their approach, and Val glanced around, orienting himself.

“The crypt is… to the northwest of the manor,” Val said, frowning to himself. “So that’s… north of here.” He turned towards the north and headed through the mist.

Away from the tower the mist closed back in; Elya stayed close by Val, looking around nervously, and the Guard as a whole stayed in a tight knot, trying to keep together in the fog. They slipped by multiple patrolling groups of skeleton soldiers and finally the wrought-iron bars of the graveyard appeared in their vision.

“This is a lot larger than it is in real life,” Val whispered, as they approached.

Indeed it was – the cold, black fence extended through the mist until it vanished, rather than enclosing a small plot of land with a few mausoleums. The ground was ripped apart, more dirt than grass, and held none of the aura of peace that the plot in the Material Plane did.

No, indeed. Tam shivered when he got closer – it was colder here. The mosquitoes clustered around him, the barely audible buzzing of their wings stirring the air, but not warming it.

The gate was closed and latched, but it was a simple matter to reach through the bars and undo it, which Val did. He swallowed as it swung open with a faint screech and he stepped in, followed by Elya.

“Let’s go,” he said.

They headed inwards. The grounds were completely still and silent, mist drifting between the tombstones. The Guard was silent.

The crypt was towards the rear of the graveyard, but they didn’t get there before meeting its keeper.

As they walked, the ground became flat and trampled, mud and dirt, no grass or headstones. Tam glanced about and spotted it – a mass of earth, it seemed, at first. A hill where there should not have been one. But it shifted and twitched and he thrust his staff out before Val, stopping him in his tracks.

Before them, the mount began to turn, slowly. It was not soil but flesh, larger than any of the mausoleums nearby, studded with pieces of weapons and armor half-protruding from its twisted form. And there were faces trapped in it as well, skulls have submerged in its bulk.

Val stared, horrified, and the Guard went silent as the gravehulk turned to face them.

“I know their faces,” Val whispered, swallowing. “I –I – “

“So you’ve come back,” called one of the faces, and Val flinched; the voice was an adult, a male, and recognizable. It sounded like Val; it had to be his father. “What? Come to gloat? To tell us we’re wrong and worthless? To punish us?”

“To punish us?” Echoed another voice, this one a woman. Val flinched again as if struck, squeezing his eyes shut; this was his mother. Tam glanced between him and the gravehulk, unsure of what to do.

“No,” Val whispered, “no, I – I didn’t – This wasn’t me! I didn’t do this. I would never do this. You have to believe me.”

“You did this to us,” called a third voice, younger, and very similar to Val’s. His… brother? “You killed us all.”

“I didn’t!”

“They don’t know that,” Tam said, softly.

Val turned to the Guard. “I don’t know what to do,” he said, helpless. “I – they’re _still in there!_ I don’t know what to do.”

Alfo and Manny exchanged a glance. “Use your words,” Alfo finally suggested. “That’s your whole thing, isn’t it?”

“They think you’re the other you,” Manny said, “and I don’t believe they’re going to be able to be persuaded otherwise.”

Elya, floating next to Val, wrung her hands. “I can try and help,” she said, “but there’s not much I can do.”

The gravehulk’s many eyes flared up with greenish light. “Out,” it snarled, with all its voices. “Out!”

“Whatever you’re going to do, do it fast,” Alfo snapped, “because we’re out of time!”


	25. Grave Keeper

The ground shifted and burst. From it came crawling skeletal remains of soldiers and corpses, some with weapons, some without; little blobs of light swirled into being, malevolent eyes that spun in the corners of the graveyard. Tam moved up close to Val, staff at the ready. Alfo drew an axe from his belt and a crossbow from the other pouch, and Manny shook his hands out, ribbons of flame already trailing from his fingertips. Elya drifted backwards into the fog and began to sing.

 _Devour,_ Tam commanded, and the flittering mosquitoes around him immediately zipped towards the nearest enemy and began to drain it of its physical reality.

“Listen!” Val called, voice ringing out. “Listen – I’m sorry. I’m sorry! I – I never meant for any of you to be hurt, ever.”

“You _hurt_ us,” hissed Val’s father, from the shambling mass. It began to lumber forward, raising one malformed arm with a club in it. “You hurt us! Over and over. You left, and you denied us, and you spat in our images –“

“No!” Val took a step forward, distressed. “No, that’s not right at all. I was only following my own life. You chose to be hurt by that. I never hurt _you_.”

“But you did!”

“Then that’s your fault,” Val snarled, eyes blazing, “and the fact that you chose your own feelings over me is your problem. And even now you’re blaming me! I never tried to do that. Any time you denied me is your fault. And I’d forgive you of all of that!”

The gravehulk brought down its club and Val flinched – but Redrick swept in front of him and raised a shield, and the club crashed down on that and slammed into the dirt beside him.

“I’d forgive you of all that,” Val shouted, “if I could have you back!”

For a moment, the monstrosity hesitated. Tam glanced over and saw his mosquitoes flutter from the disintegrating corpse of one undead towards the next. The gravehulk seemed conflicted.

“You never really wanted me, who I am, and you had Danial, so you didn’t need me, and I was just a helper to him anyway, a negotiator, there to be a calm and pretty voice of reason,” Val continued, hoarse, “but now all of you are gone! And it’s my fault. This time.”

The gravehulk struck again, still screeching, and Redrick blocked the blow again. It threw fragments of dirt up from the ground.

“I’m sorry!” Val shouted, directly at it. “But it’s not fair to punish us for it! Not now. I just want to leave this nightmare – and once I’m gone, you’ll be free, too.” He held out a hand. “Please. Come with me. We can all leave, together. Okay?”

The gravehulk seemed to convulse slightly.

“Dad,” Val called, up at it. “Please? I’m still your son. And I never meant for you to be hurt, by anything I’ve ever done. I just wanted to follow my own path – not be a monster. I’m not a monster. I promise. Please, believe me.”

Again the monster shuddered, and this time, one of the sets of eyes buried in its skin went dark, and a wispy form detached itself from the mass of flesh, wavering in the air. It looked towards Val, then streaked away, towards the crypt in the rear of the graveyard.

The monster shrieked. Tam whirled, sensing danger, and slammed his staff into an approaching corpse, watching his insects swarm from the ends of it and pour into its decaying flesh.

“Who’s there?” called the gravehulk, in a new voice – the woman’s voice. Val let out a soft, choked sound.

“Mum,” he called, “it’s me. It’s me – it’s Val. I – we all want to go home. I’m sorry I ever lied to you. I’m sorry! But you – you also rejected me, and that hurt, and it was bad, and I get why you did it and I don’t blame you for it, because you were scared I would never find what I wanted, and you didn’t want me to be different.” He paused, clearing his throat, staring up at the monstrosity.

The gravehulk swiped sideways; everyone had to duck. Redrick had to actually fall to his knees to avoid the swipe, and pulled himself up immediately – taking the backswing of the gravehulk’s club full to the torso. He staggered with a grunt.

“I forgive you, and I love you,” Val called, and the monster seized where it stood, another wispy figure pulling itself free of the mass. She whirled towards the crypt as well.

Val let out a breath, scrubbing his hands over his face, and the gravehulk took a step towards them, making everyone leap backwards to avoid being hit by its club again.

“Who else is in there?” Val shouted.

_He really means all of this. He’s succeeding._

“Oh,” called a slightly disdainful voice, “it’s you.”

“Danial,” Val said, and folded his arms. “Go away. You have nothing to do with this. This isn’t your fight, and this isn’t your – anything, really.”

“I’d love to ‘go away,’ but you killed me,” Danial snapped back.

“Oh, trust me, I didn’t want to!” Val yelled. “But _unfortunately_ I got possessed by an evil blood cross! Which _isn’t my fault!_ It wasn’t up to me that Mum and Dad decided to borrow money from a literal crime lord and she sent me on this stupid quest! This has _nothing_ to do with you. I don’t even _want_ to be a merchant! The business is yours! The family is yours!”

Danial said nothing.

Val took a breath. “I never wanted the stupid legacy,” he shouted, eyes fixed on the gravehulk. Tam could see tears glistening in the corners of his eyes. “I just wanted them to like me like they did you! And I just wanted to be like you so that _you_ would like me! This was never about you. It was just about me. So go home! You’re fine! Go the fuck home!”

Danial said nothing.

“ _Go home! Go back where you belong!_ ”

The gravehulk slammed its club into Redrick again, and he twisted to the side, but stayed standing, ready to parry the blows. Tam saw, out of the corner of his eye, Shadow leap onto an undead and yank it to the ground, and Alfo follow up with a swift swing that tore its head off.

Val’s fists were balled up tight enough to drive the color from his fingertips. “You belong with them,” he said, voice low, but loud enough to hear. “Back where you fit in. I don’t. And that’s fine! I don’t need to be like you. I shouldn’t try to be like you. I’m sorry that when I decided not to be me, I tried to force myself into being you, because it was never going to work, not ever, from the start. So go back home. I’m not your little sister anymore, and I haven’t been, not for a very long time. I can handle myself. Don’t worry about me.” He let out a breath.

The gravehulk shuddered halfway through a swing and lost its momentum, letting Redrick leap backwards and avoid its next strike. More of the lights on its faces went out, and mist seeped from the sutures in its skin, collecting into another shape that whipped away through the fog.

Tam tried to strike at another enemy with his staff and fumbled it in his hands, nearly dropping it. No, this wouldn’t do; he took a few steps forward and shifted his form, slipping out of his humanoid one and into whatever seemed right for the moment.

He wasn’t aware of what he changed into as he did it, but as soon as he glanced down and saw the soft, white coat and hooves, and tossed his head to feel the weight of his antlers, he realized what it was – a white hart.

How fitting.

He reared and knocked an undead backwards, then spun and kicked it hard enough to send it flying into the mud. Val stumbled back as the gravehulk stepped forwards again, bellowing, and stared at it. “Who else…?” he said, quietly.

“Hello?” called a child’s voice, from somewhere amongst the mass of flesh. It was hollow, and echoing, and confused.

“You fucking _monster,_ ” Val hissed, choking on his own words. “They – they’re _children!_ ”

“Hello?” called another voice, another child, almost identical.

“Alistair,” Val said, and his voice was shaking. “Alessia? Is that you?”

“Who’s there?” called one of them – Tam knew who these were. These were Val’s twin siblings. They were seven.

“Ali, Lessa, it’s me,” Val called. “I promise it’s safe. I won’t hurt you. Come out, okay? Come out.”

“The bad man!” the girl’s voice said, shocked, and Val froze for a second, pain flashing across his face.

“No, sweetheart,” he called, coaxing. “It’s not. I’m not the bad man. I promise you – you can trust me, okay? It’s safe. Just come out here, and I promise – we’ll all go home. It’ll be okay, darling.”

“I’m scared,” called the boy’s voice.

“I know you are,” Val said, stepping forward. The gravehulk was stumbling, not attacking – just standing there, shaking gently. “I know you are, and I’m scared, too. I know what that’s like. But I _promise_ you it’ll all be okay. You can trust me.”

“You hurt us,” called Alessia. “You _hurt_ us!”

“I can promise you,” Val said, desperate, “that I _never_ will again. I will die before I hurt you. I’m _not the bad man._ ”

“You promise?” Alistair said, after a moment.

“I promise. I swear, on my life.”

The last two sets of lights flickered out, and two bursts of mist came curling out from the gravehulk’s mass, whirling around it.

“It’s not him,” Alessia said, sounding partially confused, and partially relieved. “It’s not him!”

“We’re safe,” Alistair said, and then they both turned and vanished into the mist, whisking away.

Val was shaking. He stumbled and nearly fell, but Tam pranced sideways and caught him; Val held onto one of his antlers, trembling. “This is the worst day of my life,” he said.

The gravehulk swayed where it stood, then gripped its club tighter and took a thundering step forwards.

“Ah, why isn’t it dead,” Val said, nervously.

“It’s weakened,” Redrick said, “but not gone.”

“Shit!”

“We need to kill it,” the paladin muttered.

_That’s not going to be easy._

“Tam, let me up,” Val said.

Tam stared at him. Surely he had to be kidding.

“Quick!” The gravehulk was lumbering towards them.

Tam considered his options. Either he could deny Val this and have them attack the gravehulk from three angles, or he could allow Val to _ride_ on him like a _horse_ and try and kill it.

“Please,” Val hissed.

…fine.

Tam knelt slightly and Val gasped, face lighting up, before he vaulted onto Tam’s back. Tam was startled –for someone so tall, Val was surprisingly light.

He leaped out of the way as the gravehulk whipped its club up and back down, slamming it into the dirt. Mud flew in every direction, spotting Tam’s coat; he ignored it and pranced around it as Redrick attacked.

A bolt of fire streaked out of the mist and slammed into the gravehulk – Manny, lending some assistance. He sent more whipping towards the mass as Tam whirled and charged the monster, running past it so Val could get a strike in edgewise with Windsinger. The sword rang out with a few melodious tones as it gouged through the monster’s flesh.

Redrick swiped at it. Alfo appeared through the mist – the entire Night Guard, and their ally, converged on the monster.

Tam cantered away from it, rounded on it, and charged. It was weak – perhaps if he could get a strike in…

“For my family!” Val shouted, raising Windsinger. Tam lowered his antlers and leaped at the gravehulk. He felt both Windsinger and his prongs connect at the same time, tearing into the monster’s flesh, and there was a flash of light and a crack like thunder. Val shrieked and the gravehulk was slammed as if by some greater force, tearing into it; Tam twisted, ripping its flesh with his antlers, and felt it begin to fall backwards. He had to flail and stumble when he landed to stay standing, but managed to, and trotted to a halt as the gravehulk collapsed to the ground with a boom.

Val twisted to look back at it. “Holy shit,” he said, and then Tam reared and dumped him into the dirt. Val yelped; Tam dropped the form of the hart and picked his staff up from where it had fallen into the wet grass.

“It’s dead,” he said, and glanced towards the rear of the graveyard. “The crypt.”

“It should be unguarded now, right?” Manny said, emerging through the fog. He patted his shoulder, where loose thread was on fire, putting it out. “We can get out.”

“Right,” Alfo grunted. Val pulled himself out of the mud, grumbling. Elya emerged from the mists and hovered next to him, glance flicking around occasionally.

Redrick lowered his sword. “I don’t know,” he said, staring towards the crypt. “I have a very bad feeling about it.”

“Same here,” Val sighed, “but unless we want to die here, and then have this dream every night for the rest of our lives, we need to go.”

“Again with the dream talk,” Redrick said. “What do you mean by that?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Val took a breath, coughed, and cleared his throat. He didn’t say anything else, just headed towards the crypt.

Around the entryway to the crypt, a dark stone hall leading down into the earth, hovered the spirits that had wrenched themselves free of the gravehulk. They were mostly featureless, but brighter spots glowed where their eyes were, and they had discernible limbs.

“…hello,” Val said to them, when he got close.

“Hello,” his mother’s ghost said, and she sounded a little bit sad. “Valerian.”

“You used my name,” Val murmured.

“Listen, darling,” his mother said, sweeping down to him. “We know you would never do this to us. You wouldn’t. You must have a very good reason for going into the crypt; it’s dangerous. But if you were _him_ , you wouldn’t need us to open it for you.”

“I – yeah,” Val said, softly. “We want to go home. You’ll – you can come with us, right? Get out of the dream?”

“We’re not part of it,” his mother said, gently. “This is not our dream. We’re not here. The only ones in it are you, and Elya.”

Val glanced back to Elya, floating behind him. “This is a dream,” she said, “but it’s not my dream, and I don’t know what real life is like.”

“At this point, neither do I,” Val sighed.

“You’d best go and find out, then,” his mother said, and placed one hand on the door-frame, at a glowing gemstone in the center of the frame. Her image vanished, but the sphere began to emit a soft light.

The other spirits each entered another stone, until all five – each one set into the carved entryway of the crypt – were alight. Slowly, the crypt doors opened up, inwards, grating over the damp stone.

Val took a breath, staring into the darkness. He flipped his mask down over his eyes.

Elya giggled. “What?” Val said, glancing over.

“It looks kind of silly, sorry,” she said, grinning – a horrific sight, really, what with half her skin and muscle ripped off. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh. Go on.”

Val huffed out a breath, but hid a trembling smile. “Okay, no, wait, maybe we should – maybe we should make a plan or something.”

“What do we do with the Penitent when we find him?” Manny asked, voicing everyone’s thoughts. “I mean, he’s a vampire.”

“Kill him, obviously,” Alfo said.

“What?” Val turned, shocked. “No!”

“No?” Alfo glanced up.

“No!” Val shook his head. “I – I think I need to save him.”

“Uh, what,” Alfo said.

“If he leaves the Dreadmire… he’s trapped here, too,” Val said. “So if we get him out… he won’t be a vampire, and he won’t be evil.”

“You know, I don’t think that’s going to work,” Alfo said clearly.

“You don’t know that,” Val said nervously.

“I kind of do,” Alfo muttered.

“Maybe if we burn his coffin he’ll die,” Manny mused.

“Won’t work,” Val countered immediately. “To kill a vampire, you have to destroy them while they’re being affected by sunlight or running water, or they turn to mist and escape. Also, unless they’re in either of those, they keep healing themselves.”

“How… do you know that?” Manny asked, baffled.

“I did a project on them in college,” Val said, waving a hand. He glanced around the graveyard, then stepped over to below one of the large, dead trees in the area, an ash. He scooped a piece of wood from the ground and pulled out his dagger, deftly chipping bits of wood off to sharpen the end. “If you stake them in their resting place, they get paralyzed, though they don’t die. We might be able to do that and then do something.”

“What about the cross?” Alfo said. “Maybe destroy that.”

“It’s cursed, and magical,” Redrick cut in, shaking his head. “It won’t work. You can’t destroy it.”

Val stepped back up to the crypt and glanced in, then slipped the makeshift stake into the bag of holding that hung at his belt. “Listen,” he said, “I’m going to take a look inside. You stay out here - all of you are loud.”

“Take Shadow,” Alfo said, patting the wolf’s head. “She’ll go with you.”

“Works for me, because of all of you, she is not loud, actually,” Val said, moving his pointing finger to Shadow. He turned his hand over and presented it to her; Shadow sniffed his fingers, then nosed his hand and waited, ears flicked forwards. Val whirled his cloak around himself and vanished into the crypt. Shadow followed him.

“We should just leave,” Tam said, after a moment. “Leave this plane, as quickly as possible.”

“Chances are, the Penitent won’t _let_ us leave,” Redrick said, frowning. “He won’t let us out.”

“He’s not here,” Manny said, with a shrug. “He’s back in the mansion.”

“I don’t know if that’s the case.”

Tam glanced over sharply. “What do you mean?”

“He doesn’t just stay in there,” Redrick said, frowning. “He goes around the grounds. He moves about. He – he doesn’t _sleep_ in the manor.”

“His coffin is in here.” A question, and a statement.

“Yes,” Redrick said.

Alfo made a soft, displeased noise suddenly, and covered his ears. Tam glanced over.

“Alfo, you okay?” Manny asked, frowning.

“I can hear their voices,” Alfo replied after a moment, pressing his hands against his head. “The – the dead. They’re talking to me.”

“Not unnerving at all,” Manny said pleasantly.

There was a soft sound at the entryway to the crypt; Val, reappearing, with Shadow at his side. “Nothing,” he breathed, pulling his hood down. “But, ah, further on, there was just, like. You know. A little bit of light. I didn’t want to go any further, but there could be something in there.”

“Oh, neat,” Manny said.

More soft scraping sounds from the depths of the crypt. Tam frowned, peering at the darkness, and saw flickers of something moving.

Multiple somethings. He blinked a few times, then tapped Val’s shoulder, pointing.

Val turned. “Oh, shit,” he said, and drew Windsinger. It glowed faintly in the fog.

The sword’s light lit up the faint forms of shambling skeletons, clattering their way towards the entry to the crypt. One of them grabbed hold of one of the doors and began to push it shut.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Val said, and sprang forwards. He slammed against the door and failed to affect it in any way; he wasn’t strong enough to push back.

“Let me,” Redrick said, and pushed past him, grabbing the door. Val slipped out around him.

A few of the skeletons ambled out of the crypt into the mist and began to haphazardly attack. Tam moved back and blocked a fairly wimpy strike with his staff; he glanced over to Alfo, expecting to see the dwarf fighting.

He wasn’t. Instead, he was staring in horror at one of the skeletons. “It wasn’t me,” he said, out loud, staring.

No one else seemed to be noticing. “Hey,” Tam said, because nobody else was, “stop it.”

Alfo glanced over, then back to the skeleton, then ducked his head and charged past it to the door, which he smacked his shoulder into and began to push backwards.

Val’s rapier flashed as he jabbed in and out of the skeletons. Some of his strikes went in between the bones, but occasionally he’d nail a bone with the tip of the blade and send it spinning out, causing the skeleton to stagger in its place and stumble.

From there, it was quick battle – the skeletons were no match for the Guard. The ground was scattered with bones (one of which Shadow was happily gnawing on) and sprinkled with dust.

The Guard glanced around, then stepped into the crypt. “Not getting shut out of here,” Val muttered. “We’ve come so damn far.”

The crypt led down into shadow, and true to Val’s words, there was light flickering from a few of the side rooms. At the far end of the hall, a dark object loomed. Tam narrowed his eyes at it; Val spotted it as well and crept closer, silent.

“Oh, shit,” he whispered, when he’d gotten close enough to see it. “That’s – that’s the coffin, alright.” It was tall, made of dark cherry, and gilt with scrolling gold inlaid into the stained wood. Tam didn’t like it.

The other rooms off the hallway contained empty crypt areas (except one), but some of them had other coffins resting on shelves. Manny popped over to Tam and Val at one point to notify Tam he’d found his coffin.

“My what,” Tam said.

“It has your name on it, anyway,” Manny said, looking faintly amused. “Isn’t that neat?”

“No, it isn’t,” Val said, narrowing his eyes. Tam just shrugged.

The side-rooms contained coffins for _all_ of Val’s family members, actually, aside from him. Elya found hers; Tam spotted her hovering over it, looking down at the empty box, and Val hurried over to speak to her in hushed tones.

Redrick looked even more uncomfortable as he stood in the main chamber of the crypt, waiting while the others explored. Tam stepped back over to him, with Manny in tow.

“What is it,” he asked.

“Don’t you hear it?” Redrick hissed.

There was faint piano music drifting from the one unexplored hallway. Tam nodded – the Penitent was likely down that way, not in the manor.

Manny tipped his head back and looked up, at the crypt roof. “Hey,” he said, “that’s strange.”

Tam glanced up, but couldn’t make out any details in the darkness. “What is,” he said. In response, Manny summoned a flame in one hand and held his arm up, casting light over the roof of the crypt.

Spread across the ceiling and walls was a mural – a familiar one. It was a wide, dully peaked mountain, with a trail winding up it and four figures standing at the trail’s base. Atop the mountain, claws digging into the bare rock, was a dragon, wings as wide as the crypt itself and made of stars and darkness.

But here there were also smaller panels, circular and intricate, depicting strange landscapes. Many of them, each circular and ringed with scrolling runes. Tam noticed one of the closer, largest ones was an image of a dark, empty swamp; the Dreadmire. The detail was near-perfect in this one; the other spheres were hazy, sketched images at best, just swathes of color and occasional lines, no specifics. There was the streak of white that could be that tower; there a patch of orange that could be the lake of fire Tam had seen.

“Curious,” he said, out loud.

Manny nodded. “Sure,” he said, but sounded almost afraid. “Why are we, uh, seeing this?”

“I don’t know.”

The yuan-ti nodded, then sat down on the floor. “Hey, Oghma,” he began. Tam sighed.

Val appeared out of the shadows, Elya floating at his side. “You asking your god for advice?” he said, hopefully.

“Mhm.”

“Please.” Val took a deep breath. “Can you ask him if I can take the Penitent through the gate to bring him back to the real world? To… redeem him?”

Manny nodded, looking down. “What he said,” he said, and then rolled his eyes and amended, “um, can we take or guide the Penitent through the gate and fix him?”

There was a long moment of silence. Manny stared into space, then finally took a breath and looked up to Val.

“No.”


	26. Mirror, Mirror

Val blinked, utterly taken by surprise. “I… can’t?” he said, and then shook his head. “No, that – that can’t be right! I have to be able to save him.”

_Perhaps he is not the one that needs saved._

Elya laid one hand on Val’s shoulder. “It’ll be alright,” she said, softly. “I – if it can’t be done, it wasn’t meant to be done.”

“But I have to save him,” Val repeated, pitifully.

“Why?” Alfo said, frowning. “He already killed you once.”

“Because he’s _me!_ ” Val said, turning. “I – he’s me! I have to help him…”

Silence.

“I don’t know if you can,” Manny said, seriously.

“I _have_ to be able to help him. What’s it say about me if I can’t save him?”

Everyone was silent. The only sound was the faint, melodious echo of the piano from down the other hallway.

“I have to,” Val said softly. He stared down at the ground, then shook his head. “Um, we need a plan. If we can take him down to mist, we can follow him to the coffin and stake him there, and then take him through the gate.”

“Alright,” Alfo said, with a shrug. “So if we –“

There was a scrape of metal on metal as Redrick drew his blade, turning, and strode towards the passageway from which the piano music came.

“Redrick?” Manny said, and Val whirled as he went.

“I’m sorry,” the paladin called back, through gritted teeth, hefting his blade over one shoulder.

“Redrick, no!” Val leaped after him.

Manny immediately summoned fire in his palms, rippling through the air, and Alfo reached into his belt and came out with a crossbow. Shadow growled, fur bristling, and Redrick broke into a run, sprinting down the hallway.

“Redrick, stop!” Val shouted.

“No!” Redrick yelled back, turning for a moment – enough for Tam to see the red burning in his eyes. “Don’t you see? It’s my fault! I was supposed to be the one guarding the crypt! I’m the only one that can fix this!”

With that he disappeared around the stone corner. There was a tremendous crash and a shout, and the sound of splintering wood and breaking piano strings. Val cried out and ran after him.

Tam followed. Val skidded around the corner and hesitated, horrified. Tam followed and beheld the scene.

The Penitent was struggling to free himself from the ruins of his broken piano, which had been crushed under Redrick’s sword-swing. He was clawing at the wood splinters and stone, eyes wide and frightened as he looked up at the warrior.

“I’m _sorry!_ ” Redrick bellowed, and then Val darted out and stepped in front of him.

_Just like Elya._

“Redrick, _stop!_ ” he shouted, holding out his arms. “Stop! I – we can save him!”

“No,” Redrick yelled back, “we can’t!”

He brought his sword down again, and Val leaped out of the way – as did the Penitent, rolling just enough so that the tip of the greatsword clanged into the stone, sending chips of it flying. His eyes flicked down to it, then up.

Val had landed near the wall. He glanced around the room – there was a comfortable couch, and several shelves, and a fireplace that burned with a cold flame.

Most importantly – and Tam saw this just as Val did – there was a sword, hanging in a rack on the wall. That dark blade, inscribed with black runes and glowing purple. Val looked to the Penitent, then to Redrick, then darted over, Windsinger in one hand, and grabbed hold of the dark blade.

There was a ripple in the air and a deep thrumming sound that made Tam hiss and cover his ears. Val winced and squeezed his eyes shut. The air seemed to shake and the tapestries on the wall trembled; several small goblets clattered off the shelves at the dissonance and dropped to the flagstones.

And then it ceased as the sounds harmonized, falling into a perfect chord. Val blinked his eyes open, stunned, and looked down at the blade.

“What…?” he said.

He didn’t have any other chance to do anything – Redrick brought his blade up and down again, this time slamming it into the Penitent’s chest, and the vampire shrieked and dissolved into a swirl of dark mist. It whirled up and out towards the hallway.

Val yelled and rushed past Redrick, as quickly as he could. “Stop Redrick!” he shouted, and as he did Manny blinked and stepped back.

“Sure,” Manny said, and Tam followed Val. Behind them he heard Redrick clang into a wall.

Val leaped into the main area, followed by Tam. Redrick followed them, sword still out.

“Out of the way!” Manny shouted, and Val and Tam threw themselves in different directions as Manny raised a hand towards the charging Redrick. He made it a few more steps, just to the end of the hallway, before he suddenly froze in place, every muscle strained, sweating.

“No!” he shouted, image shuddering in place. “No, let me – _let me go!_ ”

“Sorry,” Manny called.

Alfo was pulling weapon after weapon from his belt, discarding them. Finally he came up with a dagger made from wood and stood at the ready.

Val scrambled to the coffin. “He’ll manifest,” he gasped out, tugging on it as the mist curled through the air, “in the – fuck, I can’t get it _open!_ ”

Alfo hurried over and kicked it once. There was a clunk, and Val wrenched the door open.

But instead of an ordinary interior, there was a whirling gateway. Carved stone, edged with skulls, and two wooden doors, open. Beyond that, a swirling greenish-gray fog, and a pathway leading through it.

“Shit,” Val said, quietly.

_He’s not going to manifest in there._

Tam turned and extended his staff. The mist from outside whipped in, turning from mist into water. He focused on the ethereal form of the Penitent and waited until it moved underneath the rapidly forming globe of water, then split it into multiple droplets and sent it cascading down.

To his mild surprise, it worked. The mist was forced to the ground and coalesced into the form of the vampire, kneeling, gasping for breath. He looked up, his hair falling into his face, and bared his fangs. He went to stand, claws out, and then froze, eyes going wide.

Hovering just a few feet from him was Elya, fear written across her ruined features.

“Why,” the Penitent managed, voice hoarse, “are you – how did you – “

“Val,” she said softly, shaking her head and drifting backwards, “I’m sorry it has to be this way.”

Val whirled, stake in hand. “Tam,” he said, “let me –“

Redrick shimmered again. Manny narrowed his eyes, the edges of them flaring up with light. “Listen to me!” Redrick shouted. “You don’t understand – if I don’t slay him, the curse won’t break!”

_The curse. It must be broken. That is the true way to leave this realm forever. It needs its master gone._

Tam stepped backwards, drawing in more mist and forcing it down over the Penitent. He dug his claws into the stones, but couldn’t stand.

“Please,” Val begged.

Redrick roared incoherently and his image shifted, blurred, and went clear as he sprang into movement again. At the same time Manny was flung backwards as if struck; he thudded into the wall and flopped to the floor, stunned. Val turned towards him, eyes wide.

As he did so, Redrick took the last few steps, sword swinging up in an arc, and brought it down. The Penitent tried to scramble away, but only succeeded in baring his chest to Redrick, who skewered him through the ribs with enough force to bury his sword in the stone ground.

The Penitent’s eyes went wide, and then dark, the red going from bright and seething to curdled and murky, like mud. Then it faded, leaving only the hazel… and then that, too, faded, as his body turned to ash.

Val spun to see this, then looked up at Redrick, speechless. Redrick dropped to his knees, one hand still on the hilt of the sword and looked up to them.

“I’m free,” he said, the burning red in his own eyes going dark. “I’m free. I said I would serve him, forever, in life and death.”

_His vow, to Val._

“I’m free,” he whispered, and slowly his image went transparent, and then disappeared entirely.

For a moment, all was silent. Then Val glanced down to the ash stake in his hand, screamed something in a language Tam didn’t know, and whirled, hurling it at the wall. It bounced off and clattered to the ground, and Val turned again and dropped to his knees, staring helplessly at the remnants of his mirror.

Elya appeared, next to him. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“I could have saved him,” he said, quietly.

“No,” Elya said, “you couldn’t have. They were both cursed, Val. This was the only way it could end. This was how fate decreed – “

“ _Fuck_ fate!” Val shouted, slamming one hand into the floor. “Fucking – aaaggghh!” He followed this up with a string of words in Draconic, and Manny’s eyes went wide when he heard it.

“Wow, geez,” he said, quietly.

Val hung his head. “Fuck,” he finally said, and laid both palms on the floor. “Fuck. Fine. Let’s – we’re leaving. I’m… you guys go. I’ll be out.”

Tam waited. Alfo turned and, with Shadow at his side, headed through the doorway. He vanished into the swirling fog and was gone.

Manny pulled himself up off the floor and stepped over. “Hey, you okay?” he asked Val, crouching down beside him.

“Not particularly,” Val said.

“…well, don’t know how to help with that, actually,” Manny said, and stood. “I’ll see you back at the estate?”

“Yeah.”

Manny turned, wincing, as he did so, and headed off through the mist, robes billowing. He vanished entirely.

Tam waited.

Elya drifted to her knees. “The curse is broken,” she said again, placing one hand on the back of his head. “You know what this means, right?”

“No,” Val said, miserably.

“I’m free too,” she said softly. Val looked up, blinking, and said nothing. Elya smiled. “I can go. And you made it possible. I was too afraid to try and do anything myself, and bound by Mitch, but… well, now, I think everyone’s a little bit less afraid.”

Val took her free hand. “Elya,” he said. “Are you – do you know if you’re alright? In the real world?”

“I have no idea,” she said, shaking her head. “Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not. I don’t remember. But I think it’s best if we both find out.” Her image began to waver and go clear. Val gripped her hand.

“Before you go – ah, Elya,” he said, and paused, swallowing. “I… it was good to sing with you again.”

“I missed you,” she said, and kissed him on the cheek before vanishing into thin air.

Val let his hand drop to the floor. It was scraped from where he’d punched the stone earlier and he touched the marks with one finger, silent.

“I’ll go,” Tam said.

“Sure,” Val said. Tam turned and walked through the door, leaving his cousin kneeling on the ground in the ruined crypt.

The mist enveloped him. He felt nothing, heard nothing but the faint smell of the swamp, and when he blinked, he opened his eyes to morning light.

Light. The Material Plane.

Tam sat up and glanced around. His little shack, home, warm and filled with life. He could spot insects skittering around, and hear the murmur of his called ravens outside.

But interestingly enough… when he held out his hand and called to them, the ravens didn’t answer. No – something else did.

A half-visible, glittering swarm of winged creatures, barely visible in the daylight. They were like mosquitoes, but ethereal, gray and black and gossamer.

He still had them. Tam held out his hand and watched them light on his skin and sit there, not biting him but waiting for his commands.

Curious.

He gathered his things and headed for the manor. His cloak, his staff, his shield, and the insects that hung around him now in a shimmering cloud. They were lovely, but reminded him of that cold, dark place.

The manor was busy, and bright – most of the inhabitants seemed to be in good spirits. There was a breakfast laid out, and most of the Night Guard was already present. Tam stepped into the room.

In all the activity, there was a bubble of stillness surrounding Val and the other members of the Guard. Manny and Alfo were standing on either side of Val, looking down at the table; Val was seated. He glanced up as Tam entered, eyebrows raised and hands folded in front of his mouth.

Laid on the table in front of him was Windsinger. It glimmered peacefully in the daylight that shone through the big windows of the hall.

Next to it, pointing the opposite direction, was the Penitent’s dark blade.


	27. Entropy and Evolution

Val lowered his hands, fingers still interlaced, and laid them on the table. “It is called Duskchanter,” he said, out loud, looking up to Tam. “And I woke up with it.”

“Fascinating,” Tam said, as neutrally as he could.

“I guess it’s mine now?”

“Looks cool,” Alfo said, nodding.

“I didn’t realize that, um, I could… take things _out_ of the Dreadmire,” Val said, fidgeting with the cuff of one sleeve. “So, that’s… novel.”

“It still exists,” Tam said. “It’s another plane. We only shut the door.”

“We what?”

“The Dreadmire is no longer connected to our plane.” Tam sat at the table, propping his staff on the edge; Val wrinkled his nose and gestured for him to move it. Tam did not move it. “It will no longer affect us, and it cannot be accessed.”

“Interesting,” Val said, glaring at the staff as several ants marched off it and onto the table.

Manny sat down beside Val, looking over the foods and sniffing at them until one caught his fancy. “I think we should just probably stay here for today,” he said, frowning. “Like, not… go places. Do things.”

“I’m with you on that,” Val said, and picked Windsinger and Duskchanter off the table. He stood for a moment and slipped Windsinger into its sheath, and then twisted and slid Duskchanter into a matching sheath that hung on his other hip.

_They match… as if they were made that way. They’re mirrors._

The Night Guard did not do much else that day. Tam retired to the library, though he was given constant updates by the rest of the Guard all day and also by servants, when meals were ready and if anything important happened.

Val and Manny went to ensure that the crypt was safe, and found it empty, clean and dry and warm – though they also discovered that the mural that had been scrawled across the interior of the crypt in the Dreadmire was replicated here.

“Strangest thing,” Manny said, as he sat on the table that Tam was reading at, “it had those little mini-murals in it, too. But one of them was different. The swamp one showed a picture of Redrick and the Penitent. Also, it looked a lot like your artwork.”

Tam checked later – the brush-strokes matched his hand.

Alfo vanished into the chapel of Ulaa for several hours, to visit the priest of the temple and try to seek guidance or something. Tam stayed and scoured the library for any mention of the starry dragon from the mural, and his visions.

Nothing. There was _nothing._ Tam read about the chromatic dragons, green and blue and red and white and black, but there was no mention of a starry, void-like dragon anywhere. And there was surprisingly little material on the metallic dragons. He remembered the vision of the golden dragon underneath its blazing sun – there had to be a reason he’d seen that particular vision as well, but he didn’t know what it was.

There was so much to know, and so many questions, and no answers – or, at least, none of the answers he wanted. The answers he needed.

He only knew he had fallen asleep when he woke, mind whirling with information. Images – visions, clear as day, and terrifying.

The same visions he’d gotten in the swamp – of the Penitent – had appeared in his mind, and faded, followed with flashes of the battle, of Redrick piercing the Penitent’s heart and driving him into the stone. Those images didn’t frighten Tam, not at all. What did were the new ones he saw.

_A frigid woodland, ice-coated trees and boughs heavy with snow, underneath a chill full moon. Next, Alfo’s journal, the one that the Harvester had dropped, filled with strange characters that faded away to blank pages as Tam watched. And finally, a dwarven figure, crusted in ice with a frosted axe upturned, eyes blazing with cold blue light. He was trudging through the snow, head bent against the blowing wind, and flapping out behind him was a cloak._

_No – not a cloak. An animal’s skin. The skin of a wolf._

_The skin of Shadow of the Trees._

He blinked awake, shoved the book aside, and pulled out the sketchbook and pencils Val had gotten for him.

The images were disturbing, to say the least, and fit right in with the rest of the horrifying visions he’d drawn in the notebook. He spent several hours ensuring they were clear and visible.

Val found him just before dinner, looking irritated and exhausted. He sidled into the library and leaned dramatically on the table, one hand down, the other in his hair. “Did you find anything? About… whatever it was you were looking for?” he asked, rubbing his forehead.

“No.”

“Damn.” Val shut his eyes and tipped his head back. “I’ve been doing _taxes_ all day. Do you have any idea how frustrating and tedious that is?”

“No.” Tam opened the book to the third vision and slid it across the table. Val opened his eyes and looked down at it.

“Oh,” he said. “Well, that’s awful.”

“I saw it.”

“And you think that’ll happen?”

“Yes.”

“Great.” Val drummed his fingers on Duskchanter’s hilt, frowning at nothing. “Can’t wait to find out where, when, and how.”

They headed down to the dining hall and walked into an animated argument.

“I don’t think that’s how that works,” Redrick said, raising an eyebrow at Manny.

“If I were to leave a sending stone in another plane, then yes, it would send,” Manny said patiently, shaking his head. “They are very handy little things and very good at what they do.”

“What are we talking about, gentlemen?” Val said, as he stepped into the room. Everyone glanced over.

“Manny thinks sending stones can transmit to the afterlife,” Redrick said.

“Try it and see,” Val said, with a shrug.

“I don’t _know_ anyone in the afterlife who has a sending stone,” Manny said, and then gasped. “Oh, no, I definitely do.”

“Who?”

“Mitch!” Manny pulled his sending stone out and dropped it onto the table. “He’s got a sending stone! I linked mine with his when I was there, too.”

“The Dreadmire does still exist,” Tam said, looking between them.

"I don't think that counts as the afterlife," Redrick murmured, frowning.

“This is gonna be great. Call Mitch Barlow,” Manny said to his sending stone, tapping it with one finger. “In – uh, in the Dreadmire. I guess. I don’t have any more specific of a location than that.”

There was a moment of silence, and then the stone emanated a soft light. “Hello?” said a familiar voice.

“It worked!” Manny crowed. Val hurried over to him and leaned down, bracing himself with one forearm on the table.

“Mitch, hey, hello,” Val said, glancing around at the group. “It’s Val. And the rest of the Night Guard, actually. We’re all around – can you hear us clearly?”

“Oh, hello,” Mitch said, sounding pleasantly surprised. “I can hear you, yeah. How are you?”

“Back in the Material Plane and doing quite well. Tila’s never been happier, or so it seems. I think everyone’s relieved to have the gate shut, even if they don’t know that’s what’s happened, really. How’s the Dreadmire?”

“Turned over to new management,” Mitch said.

“Oh?”

“…that would be me.”

“Oh!” Val grinned. “Fantastic! What are you planning to… do with it?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Mitch mused, “but I certainly am interested. It’s… quite a bit of power, actually. To be a lord of a realm.”

“Oh, shit, is that what you are?”

“I am indeed.”

“Oh, fascinating.” Val focused on the stone. “So you’re just… there, now?”

“Yes, because I have my amulet back,” Mitch said, delighted. “So! I’m going to – do something. I’m not sure what. I’m very excited about this whole prospect. I promise I’ll care for this realm well, so don’t worry, you won’t have to come and kill me. Also – ah, if you need any help with something on the planar scale, I may be able to assist you at some point.”

_That will come in handy._

“Brilliant!” Val smacked the table. “Oh, this is truly wonderful. I’m so glad to have you with us, Mitch!”

"Hah!" Manny folded his arms. "I was right."

"The thing is, that's not the afterlife, that's the Shadowfell," Redrick argued. "It's not the same. You still haven't proven your point."

"He was dead, so actually, I think I did."

"No, you didn't - !"

Mitch had work to do, cleaning up the realm, and the rest of the group wanted to eat, so they had the (very well-made) dinner that Val’s staff had prepared. Over it, they decided their next destination was Sindaleth.

Rhoskan, who had been happily installed in Tila’s forge, had told the Guard he could make them unique and special weapons and armor, but he needed ingredients from all around the world. Many of those could be found in Sindaleth.

“Unique, huh?” Val said, looking over his list. “I need – _dragon hide?_ ”

“Unique, yes,” Rhoskan said, nodding. “And extremely powerful. It may be difficult to acquire everything you need, but I promise you, when I’ve got them all in the Forge, it’ll be worth it.”

“Can you tell us what these will be?”

Rhoskan pondered for a moment. “You know,” he said, “I’ll let it be a surprise. Trust me when I say you’ll like them, though.”

“Special cloth and dragon hide,” Val murmured. “This is likely armor.”

“A good guess,” Rhoskan said.

“…I’ll figure it out. Just you watch.”

Tam was worried – one of the things he needed was a branch from the Home Tree. An entire branch. He wasn’t sure it would be willing to give it to him – or that he was ready to have such a thing.

But they were headed to Sindaleth anyway.

They convened in the morning, on horseback. Sindaleth was a fair distance away from Tila, but with horses and fair weather, the journey would be easy.

Before they headed out, as they were checking over the estate grounds and admiring the work Val’s newly-hired constructers were putting into increasing Tila’s defenses, Alfo paused, frowning, and pointed towards something – a small cart parked just outside the gates of the estate. Val squinted at it, frowning.

“The hell is that?” he muttered, and Alfo without hesitation headed over.

Sitting in the cart was a gnome, asleep. Alfo thunked one fist against the wood to wake him and watched him startle.

“Ah! Yes! Hello!” he shouted, at the top of his lungs.

“What, exactly, are you doing here?” Val said carefully, reining in his horse (who he had named Moxie) at the exact distance he needed to look imperiously down upon this little merchant.

“Selling things!” the gnome said, cheerfully. He seemed to be immune to Val's attitude.

“…such as?” Val said, frowning.

“Potions!” The gnome paused. “Well, only two of them.”

“Oh?”

The gnome raised his eyebrows. “Are you… interested in them?”

Val sighed. “I – not particularly, but I suppose you should give us your pitch anyways. Either I’ll send you to Redrick or the village, or I'll tell you off.”

The merchant leaped up and brought forth two bottles. Both of them were clear glass, one tall and twisted and elegant, stopped with glass and filled with a shimmering silvery-white liquid, the other spherical with a cork stopper and filled with a viscous purple ooze that shone with hints of green and yellow. “These are very special, very magical potions,” the merchant said, eyeing the group. “Very expensive! They can transform one creature – and one creature only! – into its counterpart from a different plane.” He pointed towards the silvery one. “This one changes it to a Feywild beast, and this one –“ he pointed to the second potion – “changes it to the counterpart from the _Shadowfell_ , a mysterious and deadly place!”

Val stared. “Intriguing,” he said softly, and then Alfo stepped in front of Moxie, staring up at the merchant. He hadn’t been paying attention until now, but was suddenly laser-focused on the gnome.

“How much?” Alfo demanded.

“Quite a lot,” the gnome said, shaking his head with a few clicks of the tongue. “These aren’t easy to procure, or to make! Quite a bit indeed, if you’re wanting to –“

There was a _thunk_ as Alfo dropped something onto the cart's counter – a fist-sized diamond. The one he’d pulled out of the ashes of the wraith he'd killed in the Dreadmire. The one he had... eaten? Yes, that one.

The gnome stared at it. “That’ll do, yes,” he said, awed.

Alfo pointed to the Shadowfell potion.

The gnome squinted at him. “Are you sure?” he said, sounding almost worried. “The Shadowfell is an unpredictable place, with… strange consequences. So is the Feywild, but that’s –“

“I’m sure,” Alfo said.

The merchant carefully handed over the potion. The liquid inside hissed and pulled away from the sides of the bottle when agitated, as if it were alive, thick and viscous and occasionally surging up against the glass in waves or tendrils of shadow. “All right,” he said, and snatched up the diamond. “Good day! Good day to you!”

With that, he stowed the second potion and began to pack up the cart, disappearing into its depths. With a few clunks and clatters the wood closed in on itself and the gnome whistled; a stout pony that had been laying in the grass trotted over and put its head and shoulders into the harness that was standing empty. With a shake of the reins, the harness clicked shut.

“Off and away!” the gnome shouted, and the cart began to trundle off.

Alfo turned to the group, the potion clasped in one hand. They watched him carefully.

“What do you think would happen if you drank it?” Val said, and then stopped. “Uh, actually, don’t do that. Please don’t do that.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Alfo said, and whistled. Shadow trotted up to him, peering curiously up at him.

_This is about to change everything._

“Oh, no,” Val said, softly.

“Alfo, I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Manny said, and he almost sounded nervous.

The dwarf ignored him. “Listen, girl,” Alfo said to Shadow, petting the wolf’s scruff. “Listen to me. What’s about to happen is for the best. Everything’s going to be fine.”

Shadow whined softly.

“It’ll all be okay,” Alfo said, and uncorked the bottle. Shadow sniffed it and put her tail between her legs, but didn’t fight as Alfo tipped the bottle into her jaws, tilting her head up. The fluid seemed to almost try to escape her jaws, but she reflexively snapped it up, even though she made soft, pained sounds as she swallowed it.

When the potion had drained out, there was no residue left in the bottle.

Alfo corked it and slipped the bottle into his pouch, then stepped back, watching. Shadow was sitting on the ground still and glanced around, whining nervously.

Abruptly she stood, and then yelped sharply, convulsing in place and falling on her side. Val hissed in a breath and even Tam had to lower his gaze – but Alfo kept watching, steady, unblinking.

Shadow’s fur rippled like oil and went dark, slick, and slowly she began to melt into a puddle of darkness on the ground. She whined, looking down at her paws, and pranced in place as her coat began to liquefy- her eyes were wide, confused, frightened. Her coat and skin melted off, then her flesh, and for a moment there was only a howling, shaking skeleton of a wolf there, slowly liquefying. Then that too was gone. The remnants of her form dissolved and spread over the dirt, with a faint, sourceless keening sound; Val pulled his horse back, nervous, from the edge of the pool. 

It spread, large enough to swallow the horses – Shadow of the Trees was gone entirely, now, just a whirling mass of darkness. But before it could expand any further, the puddle began to collapse, pulling back in on itself.

It whirled upwards, into a hazy cloud of whipping shadow, and slowly condensed into the form of a creature. A wolf.

But much, much larger than Shadow of the Trees had been.

This beast stood as large as Moxie, roundabouts – large enough to be ridden, probably. Tam peered at the shadow and jumped when two yellow eyes sprang open, in the face region, staring out at him. And then another eye. And then another. And another…

As the transformation ended, and the shadow cleared away, the new creature’s form became visible. It was a wolf, big as a horse, and she was a deep black with a lighter, sickly green on the tips of her fur.

And her entire body was covered in eyes.

They blinked and looked about, and many of them – some humanoid, some bestial, some eldritch – were weeping gently, incessantly leaking a thick, black-stained liquid. It oozed through her fur, matting it down in some places. When she breathed, Tam could hear the faint, pitiful sounds of many somethings crying.

Shadow was standing with her jaws open, staring down at the ground, and finally she raised her head.

<Well,> Tam heard, inside his mind – a female voice, nervous, but clear. <How do I look?>

“…fine,” Val said, staring. “You look great. You really do. Um, fucking terrifying.”

<I _think_ that’s a good thing,> Shadow said, frowning. She glanced around. <Don’t worry about me being able to, uh… to have thoughts. I'm going to interact differently with you now, I think. But don’t worry.> Several of her eyes blinked, flicking around to watch other members of the party. They kept crying as they did so. <My main goal is to make you as strong as possible – all of you. In whatever way I can. That hasn’t changed.>

_But what does that mean, from the perspective of a creature such as that?_

Shadow fixed her eyes on Tam, and when she spoke, he knew that only he heard it. <I’m not sure yet, and neither are you. But I guess we’ll find out.>

“Shadow,” Alfo started, and the creature looked to him sharply.

<That’s not my name anymore,> she said, shaking her head. She licked her muzzle and leveled her gaze at her former master.

“…then what is?” Alfo asked, betraying no nervousness.

<You can still call me Shadow,> the horror said, <but I’m not Shadow of the Trees.>

Everyone waited. Shadow raised her head and looked to them all, then down to herself, coated in eyes and tears and with claws long enough to gouge the ground where she stood.

<I am Shadow,> she said, <the Final Destroyer.>


	28. Marked for Death

It seemed, to Tam, that their travels seemed to throw them between Sindaleth and Elder Vale, over and over again. For here they were, headed north once more, and their road took them past Elder Vale.

The Guard wasn’t traveling alone. The other Ashewood Rangers had long since left, and Redrick was staying at the estate. But there were two new companions traveling with the group – Magnolia, a bodyguard and fighter from Oscus, and Kiran, a halfling mapmaker. Kiran seemed cheerful and laid-back, while Magnolia was quiet and seemed a little bit uncomfortable in constant company, but often amused by the Guard’s antics.

Elder Vale was bustling as always, and the Guard stopped in there to sell some of the trinkets they’d picked up and acquire new things. Tam, as always, was not quite interested in the proceedings – but he did pitch in some of his earnings to help the Guard buy a few things for Alfo.

Alfo was not his usual stoic but shenanigan-prone self; he seemed quiet and retracted, speaking little. He seemed… regretful.

Perhaps he didn’t like the new Shadow? Perhaps he regretted changing her. It was definitely her that was the change; there was nothing else that could have drawn a reaction such as that out in him, for he cared deeply about his wolf, and now she was… different.

 _Gone,_ Tam found himself thinking, and he wondered if that were true.

Beyond Elder Vale, their journey was somewhat perilous; they encountered an ogre and multiple adult owlbears, nearly acquiring an egg for themselves (Tam did not like the idea; Shadow, Val, and Alfo did) but losing when its parent came to reclaim it. They also nearly burnt down a good chunk of forestland after one fight.

“This is a FOREST FIRE,” Val shouted, gesturing frantically at the blaze, as they tried to fight it by constructing a line of barren soil where the fire could not take hold. “Manny, what the _fuck!”_

“I burn!” Manny yelled back, kicking at a log that was in the way. “It’s what I do! You know that!”

_“You are a nightmare scenario!”_

They succeeded in keeping the fire contained, and after that, were more careful in their journey.

It took a few weeks in total, but the Night Guard arrived in Sindaleth just spring was beginning to blossom, the days still cool and the nights still frosty. Tam felt at ease the second he caught sight of the Home Tree’s vast branches spread out over the city, gleaming in the sunlight. Its canopy cast shade over the city below it, keeping it cool in the heat. It was only early spring, but it was a rapidly warming year.

The city was as beautiful as ever, but as Tam got closer, he began to feel an inkling of wrongness in the back of his mind. It only grew with every step he took. Something was wrong.

When they entered the city, the guards nodded to them – allowing them entry after Val raised his silver dragon amulet and gestured to the group – and said nothing. They passed through.

The city was quiet. Far too quiet – while the Gladrathi were subdued, this was Sindaleth, the capital of the Gladrathi world. There should have been animals, people everywhere, more activity even than in Elder Vale.

The rest of the Night Guard was noticing this too. “Where _is_ everyone?” Val murmured, looking around.

Kiran seemed nervous. “Um,” he said, “probably hiding, or in quarantine.”

“Pardon me,” Val said, monotone.

“…Sindaleth has been plagued for like ever,” Kiran said. “I… how did you not know that? It’s been fifteen years and they still haven’t been able to shake it.”

Val glanced to Tam.

  _Fifteen years. That’s when we vanished, when we came back. Something happened when we vanished… or just afterwards. Something having to do with us?_

The empty streets were quiet. Birds still flitted through the trees and winged overhead, but there were no people strolling about.

Additionally, there were more guards patrolling than Tam remembered. He didn’t like it. They headed towards the Home Tree, and no one stopped them, but the guards did hold them up occasionally until seeing their amulets.

A few minutes in, he spotted a plague victim. She was huddled against a wall, staring out at the street. The markings of her illness weren’t rashes or sores or bruises; she had no wounds. No, what she had were deep purple-black runes, glowing darkly, etched into her skin.

Tam recognized them instantly. In a flash he remembered Val’s recollection of Alfo meeting his cousin, and the mark transferring from one to the other; he remembered Elidyr Ashebow holding up his hand, the runes deeply engraved into his pale skin.

Worried, Tam glanced over towards Alfo. He was standing next to Manny, face completely blank; with that level of stoicism, it was clear he too understood the origins of this plague.

The further they went, towards the Home Tree, towards the center of Sindaleth, the more people they saw. The occasional victim became small groups pressed together became quiet crowds waiting, waiting… for something. Tam couldn’t tell what.

“No one can know,” Alfo said, quietly.

Shadow wasn’t present; she’d stayed outside the city, well aware that her appearance would probably cause something of a panic. She could – as Tam and the Guard had learned – fade into invisibility at will, but it was still too risky to bring her inside the city walls. _Something_ would certainly detect her.

The Home Tree was walled off by a lower circle of brush-trees, keeping it isolated from potential dangers. Surrounding the Thicket was a crowd of people, all plagued, murmuring occasionally.

“Remember,” Val hissed to the Guard, “don’t touch them, or you’ll get it too. That’s how it spreads.”

Tam said nothing. Manny glanced around, looking rather alarmed. “Well, alright,” he said.

“Ah – stop where you are, if you please,” called a soft voice from behind the Guard. Tam recognized it from somewhere and turned to see a Gladrathi man winding his way through the crowd. He, unlike the elves that surrounded him, was unmarred by the glowing runes, though there were faint marks on his arms and hands – and neck – that looked like scars in the shape of the eldritch characters.

Tam did recognize this man – he wore the robes of a druid, of the Circles, though Tam didn’t know him personally. “Well met,” Tam said, in the language of the druids.

“Well met indeed,” the druid replied, and switched to Common for the party. “Ah – be careful. Unless you’ve already contracted the plague and recovered, it can be very dangerous – do not touch! Anyone!”

“What exactly is going on here?” Val asked, trying to keep his voice low.

The druid shifted a bag he’d been carrying; Tam caught a glimpse of its contents. It seemed to be full of canisters, and cloth-wrapped packages. He sniffed; they contained food. This druid was out amongst the plagued, helping them.

“Ah – I suppose you haven’t heard?” the druid said, and shook his head. “I suppose we don’t tend to speak to the world as a whole… the plague is still ongoing. It’s been years. Fifteen years.” He glanced over the group. “None of you have heard?”

“No,” Val said, speaking for everyone. “We haven’t. Tell us what’s happening. Who are you? What measures have been taken to aid or prevent?”

“I’m Airic,” the druid said, “of the Circle of the Land. This plague has resisted all attempts to cure it, and no one has been able to figure out where it came from. Its spread was undocumented at first, though it came from visitors to the city, not things within. It’s entropic magic of some type.” He shook his head. “We don’t understand it. But – and please, be careful – it is quite deadly.”

“Oh,” Val said, eyes going wide.

“I have survived it, because I am connected to the magic of the earth, and the Home Tree. But not all elves are so lucky.” Airic sighed. “Few are, in fact. The king…”

_Elidyr Ashebow. The Prince of Feathers, and one of the first four Heroes. He who sent us to the Underdark, and to the Ashewood._

“He contracted the plague, but survived. Several years ago.” Airic’s eyes flicked down to their Hero amulets. “You aren’t here to speak to him, are you? He’s not back yet.”

“Back?” Manny said, frowning. “Where’d he go?”

“He went to find the Maiden of the Woods.” Airic shook his head. “A fool’s errand, though one doesn’t say such things to the King’s face. He’s been gone, and the plague’s kept spreading for years, and we’ve heard no word from him.” He looked up, to Tam. “It’s likely this false hope has cost him his life.”

Troubling news indeed. “Who is the Maiden of the Woods?” Tam asked.

“A fairy tale,” Airic said. “Protector of… something. I don’t remember. She healed someone of great strength and power in the myths, though. Of a grave illness; that’s why the King wants her.”

Perhaps the library would know more. Tam nodded his thanks to Airic and turned to the Guard; Airic, taking this as his cue, stepped back and went on his way.

Val turned to the group. “Magnolia, Kiran, you stay out of the way of this plague. Find somewhere safe to stay, I don’t know if any of us would survive that if we got hit. Well, maybe Manny.” The two hurried away at his urging, and he looked to Tam.

“I need to know more,” Tam said.

“I know you do. Where are you going?”

“The library.”

“I want to come with you,” Alfo said, startling everyone. He stared up at Tam. “I need to know some things, too.”

 _About Shadow._ Tam nodded. “Very well,” he said. “We’ll go.”

Val sighed. “I do _not_ want to go to the library – Manny, do you?”

“Not really,” Manny said.

“Great!” Val beamed. “In that case, do you want to help me with something?”

Tam turned away from them and started wandering off, towards the library. The Home Tree, overhead, cast a comforting shadow over the city, but Tam couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable. Sindaleth was not supposed to be sick like this. The people plagued, the king missing… it was wrong.

_It’ll be alright. You’re here, and the last time you encountered a problem like this, you solved it._

What, at Tila? Tam frowned. Was this – was this the influence of another planar gateway?

The Wildwood Assembly’s library was a massive building, grown from slender trees with crossbranches woven between them to make a tight weave of wood that kept the weather out. The inner parts, where all the books were, did have safe walls of stone anyways. Overhead, glass stretched between branches, and softly glowing globes hung from the ceiling and hovered in the aisles.

“Halt,” called a guard by the door. “Wildwood Assembly or druidic matters or members only. State your business.”

“Research,” Tam said.

“Credentials?”

Tam paused. Credentials? “I am a druid,” he began, hoping that would be enough.

The guard squinted at him from within the shining helmet. “Your name?” he asked.

“Tamerlane Redwyne.” He paused. “From the Circle of Vermin.”

“Ah,” the guard said, and took a step back, nervously. He only now seemed to notice the flitting figures around Tam’s form, and Tam watched him take in the staff, and the insects in his robes. “Um, please try to keep it clean in there.”

“Yes.”

“Who’s your friend?”

Alfo glanced over. “A Hero of the Guild,” he said, evasively.

The guard didn’t buy it. “Your name?”

_He should probably not reveal himself so easily, since he’s responsible for the plague. We don’t know who may know that, but the Assembly will remember it being a problem from when we first arrived here fifteen years ago._

_If that was even real in this timeline._

“Alllllllllffffalfa,” Alfo said, realizing this halfway through. “Alfalfa. Is my name. I’m from the woods near Emberhearth.”

The guard sighed, pulling out a pen and paper and, in Elvish, muttered, “Dwarves and their damn names.”

Tam said nothing and watched him write down their names on the pad, underneath a list of other names, many of which had been crossed out. They were keeping track of who was in the library – and who was allowed in.

“Alright,” he said, and stepped back, pulling the door open for them. “Go on in.”

To business. The Maiden of the Woods. Tam began his search – Airic had said she was a fairy tale, so he’d check there first. Alfo departed in search of information of his own, though Tam asked him to search also for anything that talked about the woods to the north of Sindaleth. That’s where the king had gone, and Tam had a sneaking suspicion they were going to go looking for him. He wanted to be prepared.

The images of his visions – the freezing woodland – flickered through his mind occasionally. He was nearly certain that they would end up there. If he found any information on the Maiden, he would search for the woodlands next.

It took several hours, but he eventually found something. Unfortunately, it was a children’s storybook filled with multiple tales, and he had to page through it in order to find what he was looking for.

The book said the Maiden was a dryad, a powerful dryad who lived inside the Home Tree. She was the protector of Sindaleth, and there was a legend of an ancient warrior of Sindaleth, Rilifane, who had been poisoned and would certainly die. The Maiden had healed him, restoring him to life, and cementing his place in the history of the world. That did interest Tam. Rilifane... a hero (not the Elder Vale definition) who had ascended to what amounted to godhood here - he was, after all, the Home Tree. Apparently the Maiden had helped him achieve this.

Or so the book said, anyway. That was _all_ the information concerning her, and Tam – after another unsuccessful hour of searching, and a query with the librarians that yielded nothing but that one storybook – moved on to the woods.

The woods to the north were easier to find information about, and Tam immediately didn’t like what he read. To begin with, the woods were called the Cursed Woods.

_That’s a terrible start for any area, really. To be literally named “Cursed Woods.”_

Alfo returned with other books regarding the Cursed Woods, and the more Tam read, the less he liked it, and the more convinced he became that they were going to end up there.

The Woods were a dark, cold place, far more frigid than the woods had any right to be, even in summer. The area was always cold, and winter wolves had been sighted there – as well as lycanthropes. They didn’t mind the wintry temperatures and frequent, heavy snowfall, but anyone who entered the area would, including the Night Guard.

Tam read this, and worried. This is where Elidyr had gone; it had to be. The Maiden wouldn’t be easy to find, and he was _certain_ the king would have already tried to locate her within the Home Tree and failed.

Still, it couldn’t hurt to try. He wrote down all the information he found out and returned the books to their places (he, of course, remembered exactly where each had come from), then gathered Alfo and left.

The dwarf didn’t seem forthcoming regarding what he’d found in the library, and Tam didn’t push him. They left – the guard scratched their names off his list as they went – and headed out, towards the inn they’d stayed in last time.

It was still running, though the people behind the bar were different. Tam considered this; the previous owners had probably contracted the plague somehow.

 Tam was relieved to find Val and Manny present – they hadn’t gone off and gotten themselves in trouble. They both seemed quite cheerful.

“Hello!” Val called, waving to them. “How is your research? Did you find anything?”

“Only a bit,” Tam said, and handed Val his notes.

“What were you doing?” Alfo asked Manny.

Manny seemed satisfied with himself. “We put on a play for some kids,” he said. “The people out there really have, like, no morale. At all. Probably because they’re all sick and dying. So we told them about Glutton’s Teeth and the kids loved it.” He paused. “I don’t really like kids, but nobody should be that little and aware that they’re going to die with no hope.”

“Odd thing, though,” Val said, frowning as he chimed in on the conversation and set Tam’s notes on the counter without looking at them, “I tried to show them Windsinger and they couldn’t get near it. Couldn’t touch it. I felt bad about that, so I showed them Duskchanter instead, and they loved it. It seemed to respond to them, or something. What do you suppose is up with that?”

“This plague is linked to the Shadowfell,” Tam said quietly. “It must be.”

“How,” Val said flatly.

“I don’t know.”

“Did you find any information about it?”

“I already gave you my notes.”

Val grabbed them off the counter. “Right! Right. Ah.” He began to flip through them, squinting at Tam’s handwriting. After a few moments he frowned and looked up. “Did you write this in Sylvan?”

“Yes. You said you wanted to learn.” He had; since meeting Lord Mistymane, Val had been enamored with the idea of being able to speak his name truly, in the language it had been created in.

“Damn it!” Val muttered to himself, fussing over the words. Tam suppressed a smile; that would keep him busy for some time.

There wasn’t much else to do for the night – the Guard retired to their rooms. Tam wondered what Shadow was doing, out in the woods alone.

In the morning, before the sun rose, they gathered their supplies and headed north. King Elidyr had went that way, and if Sindaleth was in this much danger – and it was – they needed to find him, and perhaps the Maiden.

Tam stopped by the Home Tree on their way; the rest of the Guard had to wait outside the walls while he was allowed in. He stepped up to it, to its massive trunk, ignoring those who tended the roots as they went about their business. “Is the Maiden here?” he asked, quietly.

_No._

That was his own thoughts – he didn’t know how he knew. He kept one hand on the trunk; the tree rustled, thrumming, alive. So much more alive than any ordinary tree. It was a god, after all.

He craned his head and looked up at the branches. Between them he could see birds flitting, and pinpricks of the overcast sky still dark, and there were beetles crawling in the bark. Tam tapped his fingers on the bark and stepped back.

The tree didn’t want to speak to him right now. He turned away and left the area.

The Night Guard headed north. As they passed by the quarantine, they saw Airic; he watched them go, expression sad.

_He thinks we are abandoning them all, or leaving to get ourselves killed. He is wrong._

The north gate of Sindaleth opened for them and closed behind them, and not long after the walls of the city had faded into the forest, Shadow shimmered into visibility next to Alfo. Her paws were silent on the earth.

The air began to grow colder – rapidly. Manny noticed it first, huffing out a breath. “Weird,” he said. “Isn’t it spring?”

“Yes,” Tam said.

Val’s expression went dark. “This is the effect of the cursed woods,” he said, quietly. “Be on the lookout.”

Tam mentally checked the time, and stumbled over it. Something was wrong – the sun was supposed to have risen by now, but it wasn’t. He glanced towards the horizon and couldn’t see any light through the trees.

They kept going, silent and wary, for the better part of an hour. And in that time, it only grew darker. The others began to notice this; Val flipped down his mask, frowning. “It’s morning,” he said, quietly. “What’s going on?”

Tam glanced up. The moon now was a crescent, which he knew because he always knew. Right now, it was just showing above the trees.

“We are going somewhere,” he said, feeling the stir in the air, “but I do not know where.”

The temperature fell even further. Val wrapped his cloak around him, then pulled out a pair of gloves and put them on, frowning. Frost was sparkling on the grass; the more Tam glanced around, the more signs of winter he saw. This was unusual, and unnerving.

They kept following the road north, and he smelled snow in the air. Between one breath and the next the ground was suddenly dusted in white; Val only noticed when his boots crunched in it.

“What the hell?” he said, staring down, and then whipped around. “What happened?”

Tam was not worried about the snow. As they walked forwards, they entered a clear patch where the branches did not overshadow the road, and Tam glanced up. The sky was no longer clear, no longer black-blue speckled with stars. Some of it was, and some of it was covered by clouds that raced over the treetops, hurried and malicious.

And above it all, casting its light down into this realm, was a brilliant full moon.


	29. Winterspell

“Oh, no,” Val said, staring up.

<Cursed Woods?> Shadow said, quietly. <This is a Shadowfell realm. We’re not in the Cursed Woods. Not anymore, anyways.>

Tam glanced over at her. She seemed comfortable here – at ease. That made sense. The Shadowfell was technically her home. She was still watching, though; watching, carefully, in every direction. The eyes dotting her hide blinked and wept and watched.

“Well – where are we, then?” Val asked, glancing over at her. He seemed to have gotten used to her appearance already, overlooking it completely.

<The Feral Bosk,> Shadow said. <I feel like I know this place. It’s not safe here.>

“We’d better find what we came here for and get out,” Val muttered.

Tam glanced behind them, at the road. There was no hint of the forest around Sindaleth – snow covered the road and trees as far as he could see, and as they walked, it grew thicker on the ground. When he checked, it seemed to have always been that thick. They were walking further into the realm, deeper, and they could not turn around.

As he thought this, a cold, ringing sound rose above the trees, echoing over the Bosk. It was the howl of a wolf, and it was quickly joined by several more. Alfo glanced around, then reached one hand out, as if for Shadow – but she was not beside him, because he was in the center of the group. He dropped his hand.

“We should get a move on,” Magnolia said. Tam glanced over, and saw Kiran walking beside them… but he seemed out of it, eyes glazed over.

Again with the drugs. Tam sighed and kept moving.

The howling echoed through the night – and the moon wasn’t moving, so Tam assumed that the night here was eternal – and called out to the wolves in the forest. Whether those were gray wolves, dire wolves, winter wolves, or werewolves, Tam had no way of knowing. He did know, however, that all of those were possible.

They began to hurry down the pathway. Tam pulled himself through the snow; the heavy Mantle on his shoulders dragged behind him. Towards what did they hurry? Tam wondered, and said nothing. Perhaps safety. Or perhaps the pathway would lead them to the Maiden.

“Where is the Maiden likely to be?” Tam asked out loud.

“No idea,” Manny said. “Why?”

“That is where Elidyr is.”

“Right,” Val chimed in. “So if we can find one of them we’ll probably find the other. Except, um, if Elidyr found the Maiden, wouldn’t he have brought her to help and cure the plague by now?”

Tam shrugged.

Val sighed. “Where is she,” he murmured, “where could she be…?”

“The stories said she lived in the Home Tree,” Alfo said. “Is there a Home Tree here?”

_There is only one Home Tree._

“No,” Tam said.

“Then where’s the center of this place? Maybe she’ll be there.”

“Could always check,” Alfo muttered. “Climb a tree or something.”

Tam tuned out of the conversation, because he heard something else. The path beneath them had half-vanished into winter twigs and snow, and they were trudging through the forest now, vaguely in the direction of the moon. Tam felt like it was this plane’s north.

But there was something else, something nearby, that he could hear. He tried to block out the crunching of the Guard’s boots, the chatter between them. There was another sound – just like those –

“Shh,” Tam said, and then, louder. “Shh.”

The Guard fell silent. Tam closed his eyes and listened.

Boots in snow. He opened them. “Someone’s coming,” he said. “Someone is coming towards us."

The group immediately circled up, backs towards each other, and watched about. Tam cast his gaze over the forest.

At that moment, the moon broke through a cloud, sending a splash of brilliant light across the snow. Through the barren trees, illuminated by the moonlight, Tam saw a figure. The light lit a pathway directly towards them, and the figure was headed in their direction.

His visions flashed through his mind. He had to admit he was relieved that this wasn’t Alfo – but at the same time, it very much was.

This time, they weren’t dreaming. If they died, they would not wake up.

The figure drew closer. Tam tapped Val’s arm to get his attention.

“Who -” Val started, glancing over, and then his eyes went wide.

The figure was short – dwarven, clearly. Tam already knew what he looked like, but the description matched the image he’d seen in his mind.

The dwarf’s armor was coated in frost, and there was ice in his beard and hair, frozen to his skin. His eyes gleamed with a faint blue luminescence, and draped over his shoulders and the top of his head was the skin of a wolf.

The skin of Shadow of the Trees.

For a moment, Tam thought perhaps Shadow would be frightened to see her own skin flayed out like this. But then he remembered – Shadow was different now. Shadow of the Trees was gone.

_Yes, gone. Here. There. Now._

The dwarf drew closer. As he did so, he slowly, painfully reached into his belt and withdrew an axe coated in glittering hoarfrost. He had to wrench his own jaw open to speak – Tam saw the skin there tear, for it had been frozen shut.

“For the Maiden,” he groaned.

“Maybe we ought to run instead,” Val suggested.

In response, Manny whirled around and fired off a burst of flames through the air. They seemed to fizzle a bit, but they did fly – and whisked through the dwarf’s form.

“Oh, what the fuck,” Val said. “That’s not fair!” He squinted at the figure as Alfo pulled a bow from his belt pouch and fired off a shimmering arrow towards the figure. It whisked through its head – it would have killed any ordinary creature.

But their attacks didn’t seem to be able to hurt him. How…?

Val pulled his hand crossbow and fired it off. The bolt whizzed through the dwarven figure’s stomach and away; he kept trudging towards them, unblinking, axe raised and mouth hanging open.

He was getting a bit too close for comfort now.

Val suddenly gasped. “We can’t hit him because he’s on another fucking plane!” he shouted, to the group. “He’s ethereal! But…. if I’m not mistaken…”

He narrowed his eyes at the dwarf, and Tam took another look. There was a crack in the chest armor of the figure, and through it he could see an icy blue substance glimmering. Val raised the hand crossbow, reloaded, and aimed, breathing carefully. He sighted, waited… and fired.

The bolt whipped forwards, _hit_ something, and ricochetted off into the trees. The figure seemed to stumble.

“Hah!” Val crowed. “You can hit the heart!”

<That’s nice, but we need to go,> Shadow said. That comfortable air was gone – she was backing up slowly, her fur on end, teeth bared. <We need to go, right now.>

“What? Why?” Manny prepared another firebolt in his hand.

<We can’t fight him.> Shadow had most of her eyes fixed on the figure. <That’s – that’s the Pursuer. I know of him. Only his name. And his… his reputation.> She took a few steps back. <We really need to go. That didn’t hurt him. You’re not strong enough for this yet.>

“Understood,” Alfo said, and dropped the bow. It vanished with a poof when it hit the snow.

“If you think he’s too strong, I trust that,” Manny said. “Run!”

They turned and began to try and run through the deep snow as best they could. Tam could feel his insects hiding in his clothes, not his cloak; they were not fond of the cold. The Pursuer groaned out some other words behind them, and the ground trembled – a sheet of ice rose before them, blocking their path.

“Go around it,” Val called, and did so; Manny ducked around the other side. Tam followed, hurrying as quickly as he could. The Pursuer was slow, but he did not stop. Of that he was certain.

The air got colder as he approached, as well; Tam could feel the cold on his teeth, in his nose. It was far too frigid here, and the Pursuer’s presence only made it worse. There was a whip of wind in his hair that blew his hood back and suddenly the Pursuer no longer stood behind them, but atop the ice wall.

“Again, not fair!” Val shouted, and kept moving, stumbling through the snow.

Alfo turned, pulling a bow from his pouch again. He seemed caught between fury and fear as he drew it back.

“Taking the wall down!” Manny shouted, as Alfo fired. The arrow streaked upwards and slammed into the Pursuer, knocking him backwards; at the same time, Manny hurled a miniscule bead of light towards him, which exploded into a massive fireball that vaporized the entirety of the wall. It burst into a cloud of steam, spreading over the ground and the Guard couldn’t help but pause and see what had happened.

When the steam settled, the Pursuer was gone. Tam stepped towards where he had been, every sense on edge.

The snow was melted, revealing dead grass and branches underneath, pine needles and leaves. Laying out in the open, in the center of the clear patch, was a single shard of blue ice.

Tam crouched down and poked at it with a stick. It glittered in the moonlight.

He left it where it was and went back to the group. “He’s gone,” he said. “For now.”

<He’ll be back,> Shadow said, glistening in the darkness. <He never gives up the chase.>

“How do you know that?”

<I just do.>

Val let out a breath. “Maybe we should plan a little better,” he said.

At that moment, Kiran fell on his face in the snow. Val jumped back in surprise, and everyone looked to him.

“What’s going on with that?” Val asked, wary.

“I told him not to take that,” Magnolia sighed, and stepped over. “He took sleeping drugs before we left. I figured it’d catch up with him eventually.”

“Why?” Val frowned. “We’re – um, we’re in the _middle_ of something here!”

“Something about nightmares and old wounds.” Magnolia shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“You sure he’s not just cold?” Alfo said. “He’s small.”

“Yes,” Magnolia said, and picked Kiran up, slinging him over one shoulder. “I’m cold, but you don’t see me fainting in the snow.”

“Where are you from, again?” Val asked.

“Nubixis,” Magnolia said.

Val nearly fell in the snow, stumbling in complete surprise. “You’re a _snake person?_ ” he gasped, staring.

“…yes,” Magnolia said, as if this were obvious. “Did you not see that on the paperwork?”

“No! I missed that somehow!”

“My eyes are yellow.”

“Oh, because I study the eyes of every single person I hire and travel with.”

“What color are my eyes?” Alfo said instantaneously. “Without looking.”

“Dark brown,” Val muttered, his eyes fixed on Magnolia’s face. “ _But I’ve known you for far longer!_ ”

“What about Manny’s?” Alfo narrowed his eyes.

Val sighed. “Sort of a lovely fiery orange and red, patterned, though he’s got some gold around the pupil. Which is slit. You know, like a snake’s.”

“That’s a much better description than you gave for me,” Alfo muttered.

“Well, I noticed his _immediately_ upon meeting him, that’s why.” Val sniffed the air. “Any other secrets anybody would like to reveal while we walk aside from Kiran’s nightmares and Magnolia being a snake?”

“Snake person,” she corrected idly.

“Snake person,” Val said. “Snerson.”

“That’s – please, no,” Magnolia said.

“Snerson,” Manny said, delighted. “Magnolia, we’re snersons. Sneople.”

Magnolia opened her mouth and shut it again.

“If we’re sharing secrets – are we sharing secrets?” Manny asked.

“Yes, why not?” Val told him, rolling his eyes.

“Neat. Well, my sister’s the Empress of Nubixis.”

Val turned in a full circle, then around half again, to stare Manny in the face. “What the fuck,” he said, flatly.

“She’s really dangerous, actually,” he said, frowning. “She’s trying to kill me.”

“ _Why?!_ ”

“I don’t know. She probably has a reason, but I don’t know it.”

“Are you getting assassins sent after you?”

“Probably? I haven’t seen any yet.”

“Maybe yours met mine, and they killed each other,” Val said, with a sigh.

Alfo frowned. “Yours?”

“Oh. Emperor Galleon wants me dead.” Val rubbed his own shoulders, staring at the ground. “I really don’t know why, but Adder said he’s sent someone after me. You know, to kill me.”

“Ooh,” Manny hummed. “Exciting.”

“That’s one word for it.”

“Emperor Galleon,” Alfo said, frowning. “That’s a human emperor, right? The current one?”

“Who else?” Val said. “The other ones are all dead.”

Alfo nodded. “I’ve heard of him,” he said, thoughtfully. “He’s cursed. Maybe he’ll die before his assassin gets to you.”

“He’s what now?”

“Cursed.” Alfo watched Val and Tam duck underneath a snow-laden pine bough; it hung far above his head.

“Cursed by who?” Val asked, then frowned. “Or is it ‘whom’?”

“Everybody,” Alfo said. “All the dwarves and everything.”

Tam had a vague recollection of hearing about such a curse once or twice. “The elves,” he said, quietly. “I’ve heard something of them as well. They cursed him.”

“Yeah, same curse,” Alfo said, nodding his head.

“Wait,” Val said, “does literally _everyone_ know about this?”

“No Crestliners,” Alfo said.

Val glanced between him and Tam. “And just – nobody told him? That he’s cursed?”

Alfo shook his head. “Nope.”

“Oh, my god.”

“It’s just a little curse,” Alfo said, with a shrug. He pushed aside a few branches from a scrubby, snow-covered bush. “He won’t ever have heirs or something.”

“Oh. That’s not terrible.” Val shrugged. “That’s fine by me. He’s a shit emperor anyways, so I doubt he’d be much of a good impression on a born heir. Better to let one of his relatives take over.”

“Maybe he’s trying to kill you because you keep saying things like that,” Tam said quietly.

Val shut up.

“Hey, maybe I could ask Oghma about your assassin,” Manny said, eyes lighting up. “Or I could ask about mine. That’s an option too, isn’t it.”

“Maybe,” Tam said, feeling like the only reasonable one here, “you should ask him about the Feral Bosk, or our mission.”

“Oh, right,” Manny said, and Val’s shoulders slumped.

_He won’t be killed by some assassin. He has much larger things to worry about._

The yuan-ti squared his shoulders and tossed his head back. “Hey, Oghma!” he called, tripping over a branch under the snow. “Hey! Is –“

“Wait,” Tam said. “I have a question.”

Manny spread his hands out.

“I must know if the starry being from the mural in the Redwyne crypt is from the Inner Planes.” This was something that had been worrying Tam; he’d failed to find anything on starry dragons in Val’s library, and there had been quite a few books on the dragons. There was a possibility that, if it were never mentioned here, then it was something that had never before appeared here. Which meant it was much, much stronger than he feared.

Manny called the question out loud, then cocked his head to the side. “No,” he said, after a moment. “It’s not. What does that have to do with the mission?”

“Nothing,” Tam murmured. “Ask about the Maiden.”

“I can only ask yes or no questions.”

“What kind of god has rules like that?” Alfo muttered.

_For the Maiden, the Pursuer said. Is that the same Maiden?_

“Ask… if there is only one Maiden. Only the one who healed Rillifane. Or if there is another.”

Manny repeated the question, then paused. “No,” he said again, this time slowly. “There isn’t. That means – um, there’s another Maiden? That’s not good.”

“No, it isn’t.”

Tam drifted out of the conversation, thinking about Kiran. His habitual knockout drug use, and his nightmares. Why now? Why so suddenly? Why was he doing it here, and right now, even though it affected the party? Why would it matter to –

Perhaps it wasn’t as strong before. Perhaps it wasn’t as strong, before heading north. Before entering Sindaleth, or the Cursed Woods… or the Feral Bosk.

Tam looked upwards, towards the brilliant full moon that jabbed through the barren tree branches.

“Magnolia,” he said, “let me see Kiran.”

“What? Why?”

“I need to see to him.”

Magnolia knelt and spread her cloak on the ground, then put Kiran on top of it. Tam looked him over – he’d mentioned wounds to Tam once or twice on their journey up, because he’d been less comfortable talking to the other party members than he’d been with Tam. They were both fonder of the wilderness than the cities. The halfling was somewhat awkward, but genuinely nice, though he seemed timid and at times afraid of his surroundings.

Carefully, he began to look the halfling over. There were patches on his armor, marks where it had been repaired time and time again. A few stood out as animal bites, and Tam looked and found three claw-marks on his arm from a bear.

That wouldn’t do it. It had to be a bite. He kept looking, and found what he feared he’d uncover when looking at his lower leg, under a patch in his pants.

There was a circular scar on his skin, puckered around the edges and white, the mark of where something had gored him with its tusk – likely a boar.

Actually, Tam was absolutely certain it had been a boar. It was the only one with a tusk. He covered the mark carefully up and sat back, staring down at the mapmaker. Overhead, the full moon shone, cold, detached, cruel, and darkly amused by their presence. It did not care whether they lived or died. Or – perhaps it did. If so, it definitely wanted them to die.

Which they very well might, if they did nothing about this situation. Tam sat back on his heels.

“We are all in danger,” he said calmly. “Kiran is a lycanthrope.”


	30. Bad Moon Rising

 “I honestly didn’t know if this could get any worse,” Val said, casually. “But somehow, it has.”

Tam looked down at the halfling, then pulled his pouch open and checked on the amount of sleeping potions he had left. There weren’t many – two, and each one only lasted a few hours.

“This isn’t good,” Tam said, mostly to himself.

“What kind of lycanthrope?” Alfo asked.

“Were-boar,” Tam said, gesturing to Kiran’s now-covered scar. “He was gored some time ago. I realize now he has not had nightmares. He’s had experiences he’s thought are nightmares.”

_Without that belief, they’re too horrific for him to bear. He’s committed atrocities._

“That’s not good,” Alfo muttered.

“It isn’t,” Tam said. “They are the worst of all lycanthropes. They kill without thought. They kill anything and everything.”

“Cool,” Val sighed. “Hey, here’s my question: He’s a halfling, right? So will he turn into a halfling-sized boar?”

“I don’t think you’re taking this seriously,” Tam said.

“I think he’ll be a normal-sized boar,” Manny said.

“I bet you five gold he’s a little tiny one.”

“Deal.”

Tam tried to ignore them.

Within… six hours, perhaps, maybe a little more, Kiran would awaken permanently. And with the moon full, he would be unable to resist transforming. And he would attack.

It didn’t matter how large he was – one spear from a tusk and the curse would be passed on to whoever he wounded. Alfo could probably shake it off, and Tam couldn’t imagine Manny having much of an issue with it, but himself… and _Val…_

No. They would have to do something.

He stood. “We need to keep moving,” he said, quietly.

Magnolia picked Kiran up again and they resumed their trek through the snow. The Guard was quieter now, worried, with much to think about.

Assassins, curses, legacies. Was any of it connected?

And the Maiden. _For the Maiden,_ the Pursuer had said. The stories said the Maiden was a benevolent dryad, one who protected people and healed them, not one that sent ice-hearted warriors after intruders into her realm.

Oghma had said there was a second Maiden. Or – well, he’d said there was more than one. Tam assumed two, because he couldn’t imagine there being three or more.

One Maiden who had tended to Rillifane, and another… who had made this? A dark Maiden? A cold Maiden? A Maiden of frost, of ice, one who would dwell in such a place as this?

He didn’t know. He didn’t know how to find out. He was certain that before they could leave this realm, they would find out. The Night Guard kept walking.

Val was ahead of the group, darting between patches of shadow and thickets of brush. He came slipping back to them through the darkness, mask up. “Stop,” he told them, chest heaving in the cold. He sniffed in – he seemed to be taking the cold rather poorly – and pointed ahead. “There’s a fire.”

“A fire?” Alfo narrowed his eyes.

“Campfire,” Val corrected. “I can see it through the trees. I’ll go and see what it is; you stay here.”

<I’ll go with you,> Shadow said, stepping towards him. <It’s safer that way.>

“Sure, yeah,” Val said, seeming pleased. “Let’s go.”

He turned and whirled his cloak around him, and just like that, vanished into the night. Shadow faded into invisibility; her paws did not even leave prints in the snow.

The rest of the Guard waited while they were gone. Tam glanced around at them – the Bosk was quiet, really, far quieter than he was used to forests being. There was no sound other than the wind; no insects, no birds, no small beasts. The only bugs around were his ethereal mosquitoes, and even those clung close to him, chilly in the frigid air.

Val reappeared through the darkness; Shadow did too, stepping carefully through the snow. As she became physical, she began to move the snow rather than step through it. Curious.

“It’s some trolls and some wolves,” Val hissed, as quietly as possible. “We should really steer clear of them.”

<They’re winter wolves,> Shadow clarified, and Val glanced over to her with a nod. <They’re not ordinary wolves. They’re too strong, I think; you’re all capable of fighting off them alone, but not with the trolls to worry about. Go around.>

“Alright,” Alfo said, with a shrug.

“They were talking, though,” Val said, hurriedly. “About a shrine or something up the road.”

“There’s a road?” Manny said.

“We can check out the shrine, but we’re going _around_ the giants,” Val said.

They skirted the camp and did find a road of sorts, a pathway winding its way underneath the trees. It was a dip in the ground, cut into the earth, and the banks rose up on either side of it. It made Tam uncomfortable to be so out in the open; Val clearly felt the same way, because he refused to take the road, instead sticking to the treeline where he was hidden.

True to the trolls’ words, they found a shrine up the road. It was stone, the top covered in snow, but the face of it was carved with rough runes.

“Hmm,” Val said, peering at the runes. “Dwarvish.”

“’Give of yourself, and receive an answer,’” Alfo read. “’The gods bestow upon the people food to eat and weapons to hunt. Give thanks.’”

The shrine hummed with latent power; Tam blinked. “If you give it something,” he said, “maybe it’ll give you something back.”

“Do you really think it would?” Val said, glancing over. “Can it do that?”

“It’s strong,” Alfo said.

Val shrugged. “Give it what?”

“Food,” Manny said, “and weapons. That’s what it says there.”

They fished through the bags and came out with a few bundles of rations and a few of the lesser weapons Alfo had been carrying around. The dwarf laid them on the semicircular stone plinth before the engraving and stepped back.

They were silent for a moment, just breathing clouds of steam into the darkness. Then Tam realized he didn’t feel quite as cold as he did earlier.

“You know,” Val said, suddenly, “I think we’re going the right way.”

“Yeah,” Manny said. “Did – did that just do magic on us?”

“I cannot honestly tell.”

Alfo paused, looking at it. “Thank you,” he said, to the shrine, and then a few more things in Dwarvish that Tam couldn’t understand. He nodded briefly to the shrine, then looked down the road. “We should keep on.”

They hadn’t gone more than a bit further down the road when Val suddenly straightened up, freezing. He looked towards the party, eyes wide behind the dark lenses of his mask. “Danger!” he hissed, one hand going to the dagger at his belt.

It was a good warning, and it was their only warning before shapes materialized out of the spaces between the trees. They were much faster than the Pursuer had been, and they did not speak.

“Circle up!” Val called, and the Guard immediately did so, moving back to back. Magnolia dumped Kiran’s body on the ground and pulled out her sword, readying it.

These people looked like bandits – some human, mostly elven. Their eyes were dead and unblinking, and in each one of them, Tam could see the cold glow of ice in their cracked, bent ribcages. “Coldhearted,” he murmured, narrowing his eyes.

There were a lot of them. But Val struck forward at the first one who got close, and Windsinger shone and rang out like a bell and stabbed itself directly into the being’s frozen heart. Val blinked, wide-eyed, and took a jab with Duskchanter in his other hand. This time, it hit the shoulder of a being, and didn’t seem to stun them.

“Holy weapons!” Val called. “If we’ve got any, now would be the time!”

“Don’t need it,” Manny said, brilliance glowing in his palms.

Alfo pulled out an axe and stepped out, Shadow at his side. She was massive – she growled, and leaped towards one, jaws opening far wider than they should have been able to. Alfo slashed down at the nearest enemy and they nearly bumped into each other.

“Careful!” Val yelped, because Shadow leaped away from Alfo and nearly slammed into him. Fighting on this small, crowded road was not easy. He tripped backwards and bumped into Magnolia, who did _not_ stumble. She steadied him, then turned and drove her sword through the belly of a bandit, shield held up to block its flailing strikes.

Tam closed his eyes, opened them again. The moon here was not friendly…. but he knew the light of the Material Plane’s moon, and he channeled that, gripping his staff in one hand. The light in the area shifted as a beam began to shine upwards from the ground, enveloping several of the figures. They stopped walking where they were, twisting in agony. Tam’s moonlight was not the desecrated brilliance of the Feral Bosk.

Alfo whirled again, slicing the head clean off one of the bandits. Manny sent a few bolts of fire streaking outwards; they slammed into the figures and dropped them. Alfo shouted, and Manny turned and flicked one in his direction. “I got your back!” he called, as he let it go.

It missed, and slammed into the plate of armor between Alfo’s shoulders, sending him staggering into the snow. He landed on his hands and knees and had to flop out of the way to avoid an opportunistic strike by a bandit.

“Oh! Oh, sorry!” Manny yelled.

“Why!” Alfo roared, struggling to stand. Shadow leaped over to him, snarling, and knocked away an icy figure that was getting too close.

Manny winced. “Sorry! I didn’t aim…”

“ _You should have!”_

Shadow stepped away from Alfo; the dwarf managed to get onto one knee, panting. There was a glowing hole in the back of his armor. “This will not fix easy,” he growled.

“Sorry, sorry,” Manny said, and hucked another firebolt over Alfo’s head just as he started to stand. He ducked, shouting incoherently, and Manny let out a sigh of relief as the flames struck a bandit and knocked it backwards.

“You – you just _almost_ did it _again!_ ” Alfo shouted.

“But I didn’t!”

Val turned to Magnolia. “Well, Magnolia, after what Manny just did, you’re the best snerson I know.”

“Thanks,” she said, and took three steps forward, bashing her shield into a bandit and driving it to the ground. She followed that up with a hefty stab to the chest; the figure stopped moving.

Val whirled and slashed Windsinger across another figure’s face, then stabbed them through the throat. That one dropped as well.

Shadow stepped between Alfo and the bandits, lowered her head, and opened her jaws. She let out her breath, then sucked in another one – and as she did so, produced a sound like a howl, but backwards.

It scraped through the air, and as Tam glanced over he saw the bandits crumple, eyes going dull. Shadow finished screaming and snapped her jaws shut, tossing her head upwards as if she were swallowing something. There was a strange movement in her fur – an eye, on her shoulder, opening. It was clear blue, and it flicked around, frightened. As Tam watched it began to weep.

Shadow turned back towards them, revealing two more new eyes, both green, that joined the others in staring about at the world. She let out a breath that didn’t cloud in the winter air.

With that, the tide of battle changed. Val swung and stabbed with Windsinger, which sang as it plunged through frozen flesh. Alfo struggled up, cursing to himself, and managed to get himself back into the fight.

It was over soon enough – the woods fell silent. Tam let his moonlight fade away and Val checked Windsinger’s blade (it was clean, as always) and slipped it and Duskchanter back into their sheathes.

It looked so smooth and practiced, even though he’d only had Duskchanter for a brief time. Only a few weeks. Yet it seemed like he was a natural with it – with both blades, used together.

Tam turned his attention to the fallen figures. Something about them nagged him – they hadn’t been able to avoid harm like the Pursuer had. Were they the same?

He crouched down next to one of them, then carefully pulled a stone-bladed knife from his belt and nudged aside the frozen armor, revealing the mess that had been made of the bandit’s chest. The skin and flesh had been stripped away and the bones cracked and wrenched apart; the organs had been partially shredded to make a path to the heart.

Where the bandit’s heart should have been, there was instead a cold, clear sphere of chipped ice, latched onto the bones and the half-destroyed blood vessels. It gleamed softly.

Someone, or something, had cut out these people’s hearts and replaced them with ice.

“This isn’t necromancy,” Tam reported, standing and turning back to the group. “This is natural.”

“Natural in what way?” Val said, glancing down at a lifeless body by his foot. He nudged it with a curl of disdain. “This isn’t natural.”

“Not for the Material Plane. For the Shadowfell it is.” Tam paused, then amended. “For the Feral Bosk.”

“Oh, for the love –“ Val huffed out a breath. “The sooner we get out of here, the better… Alfo, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” the dwarf grunted; he’d healed himself quietly while no one was looking.

_We keep forgetting he can do that._

 Val kicked snow over one of the corpses and turned to the group. “Coldhearted indeed,” he muttered. “Listen, we have to – we have to figure out where the hell we’re going. If the Maiden of the Woods lived in the Home Tree, the center of whatever wherever, then this Maiden probably lives at the center of this hell forest, right? so we need to find the center.”

“How?” Manny said.

“Climb a tree and find out or something, I don’t know,” Val said, and turned to look up at one of the tall, barren trees. “I’m no good at it, but –“

“I’ll do it,” Alfo said.

“You just got hurt!”

“And?”

“…I mean, if you want to.”

With that Alfo slapped snow off his gauntlets and headed for the nearest pine tree. He used his axe like a pick, digging it into the tree to haul himself up into the branches. The entire Guard watched him go, silent.

“Huh,” Val said, finally. “I guess it didn’t hurt that much?”

Alfo vanished. The tree was easily sixty feet tall, and Tam could spot branches rustling as he went higher. Val cupped his hands around his mouth.

“If you fall,” he shouted, “don’t worry! You’ll land safely!”

Alfo didn’t respond, but he probably heard and understood. He kept climbing, upwards, until he could see above the canopy line.

“What do you see?” Val shouted.

Alfo didn’t say anything for a second, then there was an abrupt panicked rustling and he leaped from the top of the tree. Val yelped and snapped his fingers when he was halfway down; Alfo’s fall slowed to a gentle drift, and he landed lightly on the ground and waded through the snow over to them as fast as he could go.

“There’s a very big storm coming,” he said. “A blizzard. I couldn’t see the heart of the forest. Sorry.”

“Oh, a _blizzard!_ ” Val said. “Lovely! Just what we needed with a lycanthrope sleeping on Magnolia’s shoulder and a hell ice dwarf following us.”

As if on cue, Tam caught the telltale sound of boots in the snow back in the direction they’d come from. He whipped around, staff at the ready, and saw through the trees a form advancing towards them.

“He’s here,” he announced.

Val whirled, saw the Pursuer, and swore several times in Draconic.

“Geez,” Manny said, looking at him. “Harsh.”

“What’s the plan?” Val asked, glancing over the group.

“…I don’t know, what _is_ it?” Alfo said, after a second.

Val opened his mouth, glanced back to the Pursuer, and yelped, eyes going wide. “Dodge!”

He leaped to the side, and Tam reflexively went the other direction. As he did so a massive block of ice crashed into the ground where he’d just stood, almost catching Alfo where he stood.

<We need to run!> Shadow shouted, backing up. <We _need to run!_ >

“There’s a blizzard coming, what the _hell_ do you think we’ll do if we run?” Val shouted back, fiddling in his pouch. The Guard grouped up in front of the ice block, which had tumbled to a halt in the snow.

The Pursuer raised his free hand, pointing it towards them. “For the Maiden,” he groaned, and then several large blocks of ice materialized from the snow, all hovering above the ground.

Val yanked a bottle out of his bag and turned, smashing it on the ice block. “Scatter!” he shouted, as it broke, and there was a burst of steam and fog, a white cloud that swiftly enveloped them all.

They did. Tam turned and fled; he saw shapes moving through the mist and knew the rest of the Guard was heading into the woods.

<Good,> Shadow said. <Now _quickly!_ We need to get far, _far_ away so he won’t catch up to us too soon!>

That was the last Tam heard from her for several hours.

He broke out of the fog cloud and was immediately blasted in the face with wind – the storm Alfo had mentioned.

Around him, he saw none of the other Guard members, but he knew if he went away from the fog, he’d be leaving the Pursuer behind. The choice was clear – he turned his face to the wind and walked into it, bowing his head and pulling his cloak close around him.

It took far too long to realize he couldn’t see or hear any other members of the Guard around him, and he could barely see a few trees away due to the snow and wind.

_Where is everyone else?_

Where _were_ they? Stuck in the snow? He felt the cold seeping into his muscles, making them shake. He tried to ignore it. All of his creatures were crowded close to him, sluggish or already dead from the cold. He planted his staff in the knee-high snow to try and keep his place in the wind.

_Where is Val? He’s delicate. He’ll die in the cold._

That was his first priority. Val had been to his… right, when he’d summoned the cloud, so he should be to Tam’s left now, because they’d turned and fled in that way. Tam angled himself, fairly certain he was still going in a vaguely straight line. He checked his trail to make sure he wasn’t winding and caught himself a few times.

His efforts paid off – he encountered a second trail (an odd one, as though someone had been dragging something) through the snow and followed it until he found Val pressed against a tree stump, cloak pulled around him as tightly as possible. He was trying to do something with his harp, plucking at the strings with numb fingers.

“Val,” Tam called, and saw him look up, squinting through the wind.

“Tam?”

“Yes.”

“Here, quick,” he said, beckoning. Tam made his way over, through the snow, and stood next to Val while he muttered to himself and managed to get the harp to emit a weak melody.

It was worth it – around them, abruptly, shimmered the dome Val was so fond of using. Immediately they were free from the wind, and Val let out a breath and sat down in the snow, tipping his head back against the bark of the stump. “All the gods and all the demons,” he said, chest heaving, “this is the worst storm I’ve ever been. Worse than hurricanes.” He brought his hands up to his face and blew on them, wincing. “Can’t feel my fingers. Ow.”

Immediately he gasped and reached into the snow to his left, pulling forth a limp form – it was Kiran, still unconscious.

“What happened?” Tam asked. Hadn’t Magnolia been carrying him?

“He got dropped,” Val said, checking the halfling’s pulse. He breathed out, then shoved at him until he could get a cloak between his unconscious body and the snow. Then he leaned back against the stump and shut his eyes, tucking his hands into his jacket.

“How did you get him?”

“Saw her without him. Went back.” Val was only using short sentences – he held his hands to his face, trying to warm them and also his mouth. “Bleh. Had to drag him out. Got – um –“ He paused, then pulled his cloak off one shoulder, revealing a ragged tear through the sleeve of his overshirt and shirt, cutting all the way to the flesh underneath. It wasn’t bleeding, and in fact looked like it had cauterized.

No – frozen.

“He got me once,” Val said, poking at the wound. There was no need to define who ‘he’ was. “Hm. I can’t feel it. That’s probably not good, right?”

“Probably,” Tam agreed.

“When I can play I’ll heal it,” Val muttered, pulling his cloak over his wound. He huddled up against the tree. “He would’ve gotten Kiran, though. Can’t have that.”

Tam nodded wordlessly, and they fell silent.

The dome around them was tinted white – from the outside, it would look pretty similar to a snowbank. Tam figured they were likely safe here for a bit. He kicked some snow out of the way and spread a cloak over it, then sat, cross legged, and waited.

And waited.

The wind didn’t seem to be ending. Val chewed on one lip, worried.

“They’ll find us,” Tam said.

_They will. The Shadowfell would tear you apart, but they’ll find you._

They did. Val and Tam stayed where they were, waiting, for what felt like hours but what Tam knew wasn’t more than three-quarters of one.

Then Magnolia appeared through the snow, shielding her face with one hand. She passed through the dome with ease, seating herself in the snow with them. It had begun to melt, which was unfortunately wet, but the heat was better than the cold.

Not long after, Alfo appeared, through the storm. He didn’t seem anywhere near as tired as anyone else, and Shadow was with him. She curled up at the edge of the dome and watched. Tam wondered if the eyes on her belly stayed open when she laid down and pressed against the snow.

It took longer for Manny to show up. He was the last one, and Tam was beginning to be legitimately worried he’d gotten killed in the snow when he staggered through the wind and into the dome, shaking and crusted with frost.

“Dear gods,” Val said, looking at him. “Warm up!”

“I’d like to,” Manny replied, collapsing into a heap on the ground. The ground was now dry – the dome saw to that – and he lay half-motionless next to a fire that Tam had conjured up for them.

“…you alright?” Val asked, leaning forwards and poking him.

“I’m alive.” Manny flopping onto his back and stared upwards. “We sneople are not meant for this weather,” he groaned, miserably.

Tam glanced over at Kiran’s form – he was shifting occasionally in his sleep, muttering to himself. “We have a problem,” he said, quietly, but loud enough to draw all attention to him. He used the tip of his staff to point towards Kiran.

The jollity in the air faded immediately. Everyone went silent and grave.

“In half an hour, perhaps an hour,” Tam said, “Kiran will wake up, and he will turn into a wereboar, and attack all of us. And then we will have to fight him, and decide what to do with him then. It’s likely we will kill him.”

Silence. Val looked to him, then to the others. There was a heavy pause.

Finally, he sighed, then unbuckled the large bag that he usually kept slung around his shoulders. It was almost a duffel bag with how large it was, but weighed nothing – its interior was an extradimensional space. He laid it on the ground with a heavy sigh.

“We kill him first,” he said, eyes on the bag. He refused to look up. “It’s safer for us, and he won’t even feel it.”

_Kill him?_

Tam stared at Val. He looked legitimately sad, resigned, but his face was hard.

“…are you sure?” Manny said, tipping his head slightly to the side.

“Unless you want to let him wake, endure a painful transformation, and then endure death by multiple stab and slash wounds and also fire, then yes,” Val snapped. He rubbed his arm, which he’d healed; there was still a pale scar there.

“You’re kidding me,” Magnolia said, after a second. Tam glanced over to her – she’d been carting Kiran around for hours, making sure he was safe, keeping him with the group. And now they were going to make sure all her efforts were for naught. She was understandably upset.

“Would you rather fight him?” Val snapped. “Wonderful, then he’ll have a chance to spread his curse to one of us, then, making the entire situation potentially a thousand times worse. Would you like to have Alfo turn into a were-boar, and attack you? Do you think it would be good if you turned on us?”

The yuan-ti went silent, folding her arms.

Val swallowed. “Is anyone going to stop me?” he said, softly.

No one spoke.

“Someone hold the bag open,” Val said, and no one moved until Tam shuffled forwards and knelt, undoing the fastenings on the bag and laying it open. A soft, velvety darkness lapped at the leather of the edges, much more obvious than it normally was.

Val rolled Kiran into the bag, watching him vanish into the space, and then closed it. “It’s got about ten minutes of air,” he said. “Keep it shut for half an hour. Don’t open it.”

“You really wanna make sure, huh?” Alfo said.

“We _cannot_ afford to jeopardize the entire group by letting him wake up and attack us,” Val hissed, refusing to look. “We cannot!” After a moment, he let out a swift breath and added, “When we return to Sindaleth I will see to it that he is taken care of. With luck, we will be able to revive him, and perhaps take care of the curse.”

“And if not?” Alfo’s eyes gleamed in the darkness.

Val did not answer, but stood, looking out at the storm. It was lessening – it had been for a bit now. “It’s clearing,” he said, and as he spoke, the clouds began to break up, letting the moonlight through. It gleamed on what snow was still falling, brilliant in the night. “We should go.”

_Follow the blizzard._

“Towards the source of the storm,” Tam said.

Val nodded. He picked up the bag of holding – wincing as he did so, though of course, he didn’t feel the extra weight – and strapped it onto his back.

Magnolia stared at him the entire time, unblinking. He cast a few glances over at her, but couldn’t say anything. Eventually he just turned around and walked out of the dome, dissolving it as he did so, and started towards the heart of the storm.


	31. Prince of Feathers

Silence. The storm had stopped, but Tam knew which direction they had to go; the snow from the blizzard was stuck to the sides of the trees in the direction the wind had come from. Now, gentle flakes drifted down, underneath the bright full moon.

The tension was broken when Tam squinted through the trees and saw a light gleaming in the distance. “Light,” he said, and Val looked, too.

“Is that lanterns?” he said, frowning. “I think that’s lanterns.”

It was. As they got closer, the forest parted, revealing a wide, snow-covered field, ringed with deep snowbanks and with a single massive leafless tree growing in the center of it. There were lights in it, and in the windows of what appeared to be a house-like structure in the branches.

“Holy shit,” Val said, as they drew closer. He was in front of the group, eyes wide. “Now that’s a treehouse! _Look_ at that!”

He took a few steps towards the snowbank, and then Tam heard a little “ping” sound and there was a moment before a brilliant flash of light came flaring up from the ground. Tam looked away in time, but Val didn’t, and he stumbled, yelping.

“Traps,” Tam said, realizing it a little bit too late.

Movement in one of the windows. Val was blinded for a moment, that much was obvious; it was enough time for a figure in the window to bring up a bow and shoot.

The arrow caught Val in the midsection, to his side; he went stumbling backwards and fell into the snow, stunned. “Uh,” he said, hands immediately going to the wound. The arrow was smooth and well-crafted, the feathers dyed green and gold. “Ow…”

Alfo and Shadow sprang forwards. Shadow leaped over the snowbank and Alfo plowed through it; they made it partway into the meadow before the ground collapsed beneath them. Tam heard Shadow yelp as she vanished out of sight.

_That isn’t good, and this isn’t what’s supposed to happen. Something’s wrong here._

Val, meanwhile, wriggled closer to the snowbank, completely hiding himself from sight. He hissed as he moved, both hands on the shaft of the arrow; he was trying to break it off.

Magnolia brought her shield about in front of her, and immediately Manny summoned flames and hurled them back at the figure in the tree.

It didn’t help. Tam heard arrows whizz by on either side of him; one skimmed the side of Manny’s neck, causing him to cry out, and another two clattered off Magnolia’s shield, then a third slammed into her shoulder, knocking her back a step.

This wasn’t working. Tam squinted at the figure, and took in a sharp breath – even though it was only a silhouette, he knew who this was. It had only been a few months for him since they’d met, after all; he would recognize him anywhere. There wasn’t anyone else it could be. “The King,” he said, softly.

“That’s the king?!” Val hissed, opening one eye from the snow. Around his side, drops of blood were leaking into the white. “Why is he attacking us?!”

“I don’t know.”

“Can you shout at him or something?”

Tam swallowed. _Talk to him?_ That was… not his forte. He didn’t talk to people. “Um.”

“You speak Elvish, and you’re a druid. He’s an elf! And a… a nature lover! _Say something! Say we’re friends!”_

That was ridiculous. “I don’t –“

Val reached out and touched Tam’s ankle, just barely brushing against him. With that, Tam felt the warm glow of magic spread over his skin, seep into his lungs. Val was humming softly, hissing in between notes. “Talk to him,” he said, and squeezed his eyes shut.

_This is a role reversal. But you’re the one who can help._

Tam opened his mouth. “King,” he called, in Elvish, and was startled to feel how fluidly the words rolled from his tongue. They tasted like honey, filling his mouth; he could see a faint hint of gold in the air when he spoke. “King, please, we are friends.”

The figure in the window drew back another arrow and Tam ducked just in time to avoid it; it buried itself in the snow behind him.

“Don’t be so timid,” Val hissed, from the snow. “Just tell him to stop!”

That was ridiculous. No one ordered a king. But Val did generally know how to talk to people…

“King Elidyr Ashebow! Lay down your bow! We are friends from Sindaleth; we seek you and the Maiden! We are here to help. Stop attacking us!”

The figure in the window drew back another arrow…. And then, incredibly, didn’t release it. He let the string go slack and lowered the bow, dropping the arrow; for a moment he held one hand to his head, shaking it gently, and then he looked up again.

“You’re – who?” he called, in Elvish, from the window.

“We are the Night Guard,” Tam called back. “We met you once before.”

“Oh – _oh!”_ The king seemed mortified, dropping his hand. “I – I don’t know what – I don’t know why I…”

“It’s alright,” Tam said, wondering how the wandering path of fate had led him to assuring the king of the elves that it was okay that he’d shot Tam’s cousin. “Could you help us, please?”

“Yes. Immediately. And then – please, come in and rest – I am very sorry that I...” the King trailed off and disappeared from the window. He appeared moments later at the base of the tree, leaping down from one of the branches, and hurried across the snow, stepping on top of it.

“Hey,” Val said, quietly. Tam glanced down to him. He smiled, though it was half a grimace of pain. “You – hggg – you did a really good job, just now. Absolutely great.”

“…thank you,” Tam said, after a moment.

The King, when he reached them, was as regal as he had been the last time they’d met, but seemed older, and more worried. Tense, fearful. His green eyes were lined with the faintest impression of wrinkles – an odd trait to see in an elf – and his hair, still bound back in bundles of intricate braids, was  Even so, he nodded to Tam. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Where is…?”

“Down here,” Val groaned, from the ice. “Fuck. Ow. Oh, sorry for swearing, Your Highness.”

“Oh, hm,” Elidyr said, glancing down at Val, who was still clutching the arrow.

“I can’t break this,” Val said. “Could you please? Ah, don’t fucking pull it out, dear gods. I don’t want to die today.”

“Ah – sure,” Elidyr said, caught off guard. He stepped down off the snowbank and crouched next to Val, then effortlessly snapped the arrow’s head off, tossing the shaft away. Val sat up, hissing; the head was still buried in his side, but they’d handle that later.

Immediately the King turned and hurried back over the snow to the pit where Alfo and Shadow had fallen. He pulled a coil of rope from his side and tossed one end of it down. “Here,” he called, “I am – please accept my apologies.”

“It’s fine,” came Alfo’s voice, pained, from the pit. When he finally climbed out, he looked battered, and there were puncture marks in his armor, edges stained with blood. “Spikes,” he muttered, as Tam slogged over, Val (who’d pulled himself agonizingly out of the snowbank) in his footsteps and Magnolia behind.

Shadow pulled herself out of the pit with her front paws; she looked rather worse for wear as well, many of her eyes shut tight and her pelt marked with deep score-marks. Elidyr glanced to her, then did a double take. “Ah… hello,” he said, uncertain of how to react.

<Hello,> Shadow replied, neutrally.

The King led them in a winding path across the open field. “Follow me exactly,” he called, “because there’s more traps, and they’re just as bad as the one you blundered into.”

“Noted,” Alfo muttered, taking care not to step out of line.

They headed across the expanse to the tree. When they reached it, Elidyr looked up into it, then sprang upwards and climbed the deeply ridged bark and smaller branches so swiftly Tam could barely follow the movement with his eyes. He was gone in moments; seconds later a rope ladder was thrown down, unraveling as it went. The rungs were slats of wood supported on knots tied in the rope.

“Guys,” said Val, turning to the group before Elidyr reappeared. “There’s _definitely_ a chance he’s a lycanthrope.”

Elidyr reappeared in the small square hole the ladder came from. “Come on up,” he called.

<I’ll stay down here,> Shadow said, quietly. <I can rest without being in his house. Also, I can’t get up there.>

“Are you sure?” Alfo asked.

<I’ll be fine.>

Alfo turned and grabbed hold of the ladder, beginning the climb. Val looked up the ladder and sighed, one hand still clutching his side. “Ladders,” he sighed, and waited until Alfo had gotten far enough up before following him, wincing every step of the way.

They did all get up – excepting Shadow – and Elidyr pulled the ladder up and gestured to what appeared to be handmade furniture surrounding a table. “I’m sorry about your wounds,” he said, looking genuinely distressed. “Please, let me help.”

“That would be appreciated,” Val said, before anyone else could argue. He and Elidyr spent the next few minutes removing Elidyr’s arrowhead from his side and repairing the wound with magic, and the King’s power was strong enough that it didn’t scar, not even a bit.

“What happened?” Manny finally asked, warming himself up by sitting far too close to the fire for anyone else’s comfort.

“I went looking for the Maiden,” Elidyr said, shaking his head. “To cure the plague. But I got… lost. I know where she is, I just… can’t get to her.”

“The Maiden is real?” Val said, glancing up from where he was cleaning dried blood off his now-flawless skin.

“Yes.” Elidyr nodded. “I always knew she was – “

“How?”

“My sources. I knew I could find her, but it would be… difficult.” Elidyr fiddled with a piece of flint, tapping it on the table. “I haven’t gotten to speak to her yet.”

“It’s been a _year_ ,” Val said, rolling his eyes. “It’s taken you that long?”

Elidyr looked up sharply. “It’s been a year?”

“Oh, for…”

“I – I was counting, the hours, the time,” Elidyr said, glancing towards where there were candles lined up. “I didn’t think I’d lost track that badly…. I thought it had been a couple months, at the most.”

“Time doesn’t move the same,” Tam said.

“And I should have known better than to expect it to,” Elidyr muttered, shaking his head.

“Hey,” Manny said again. “Why _did_ you attack us?”

“I met…” Elidyr paused. “There’s an entity here, that the Maiden controls. It’s called –“

“The Pursuer,” Alfo said, quietly.

Elidyr nodded. “Yes,” he said. “The Pursuer. I… met it, once, and I only remember meeting it, and then everything after that is a blur. Up until now. Up until I heard you calling.” He glanced towards Tam. “Thank you, again, for I do not know if I ever would have broken out of that state of mind had someone not urged me to.”

Tam didn’t know what to say. Speaking wasn’t his strong point. Getting complimented on his _words he’d said to people_ was not something he was used to. He focused on his tasks: fixing Alfo’s broken armor (Alfo took the time to dig what looked to be personally distilled liquor out of his packs and offer some to Elidyr, to surprisingly accepted) and calling his new swarm. His insects were dead or asleep, and he needed something better for fighting. The ravens had already begun to gather in the branches of Elidyr’s tree.

He didn’t listen to most of the conversation, but tuned back in when he heard Val ask about the Maiden of the Woods again.

“Yes, I – I do know where she is.”

“You mentioned. You really do?”

“Of course I do, I –“ Elidyr fell abruptly silent.

Val narrowed his eyes. “You what?”

“Nothing.” The King straightened. “Let’s go.”

“No, you _what?_ ” Val snapped. “Is there something you’d like to tell us?”

“There isn’t,” the King said icily, casting Val a sideways glance. The bard paused, swallowing, and said nothing; Elidyr swept past him and vanished down the ladder.

“Hope that doesn’t bite us later,” Val muttered.

The snow was deeper than ever as they stepped out of Elidyr’s cleared area and trudged into the forest. Elidyr pulled his hood up; the bow, slung across his cloak, was long enough that its tip occasionally brushed through the snow, and the other end stuck out far above his head. At his sides now rested two elegantly curved swords, short enough for him to wield one in each hand.

He beckoned. “This way,” he called, heading into the trees. “It’s not far. It’s the center of the Bosk.”

“And to think we were looking for that the whole time with no guide and getting attacked and frozen when we could have just gone and found a reticent king to lead us there instead,” Val sighed.

“I can hear you,” Elidyr said, calmly.

“I know,” Val snapped.

There certainly was a lot that the king was hiding, but Tam couldn’t possibly hope to take a guess at what it was. It was possible Val was right and the king, too, was a lycanthrope of some type, but if that were so, then wouldn’t he have already transformed under the Bosk’s full moon?

If it wasn’t that, then what was he hiding?

Elidyr led them on a path that only he could see, as they followed him, Tam saw the forest changing slightly. The undergrowth did, and the ground sloped ever so slightly downwards. The treeline ended at the bottom of the slight hill, and Tam could see a wide-open space beyond.

“We’re getting close to the lake,” Elidyr called back, softly, after some time. “It’s not much further.”

“Don’t say that,” Val replied, automatically. “If you do, something bad will happen.”

The trees shifted; the undergrowth rustled, and Tam heard boots moving through the snow.

“All right,” Val snapped, glaring at the wood. “Did you _really_ have to prove my point right there? I don’t think that was necessary!”

The Guard grouped up again, this time including Elidyr in their ranks; he pulled out his bow and nocked an arrow, eyes flicking around to the forest. Val pulled Windsinger from its sheath and hummed a tone that harmonized with its gentle song. The trees rustled in a sudden breeze, frozen branches creaking together.

From the undergrowth burst multiple humanoid shapes – people, again, skin frozen and eyes dead, chests cracked open.

<Coldhearted,> Shadow growled, silently.

_We’re going to need shelter if we don’t get out of here immediately, and we’re not going to get out of here immediately. The Bosk isn’t going to take chances on us. It’s going to try harder on us this time._

“The shelter,” Tam said, out loud, to Val.

“Right now?!” Val said, glancing over.

“Yes.”

“I – alright, fine!” Val sheathed Windsinger with a huff and pulled his harp around to his chest, strumming his fingers across the strings and muttering to himself as he fiddled with the tuning. Even though it looked as if he were just trying to alter the sound, Tam could already feel the magic building around it. As he played he stepped backwards, into the center of the group, and the other members of the Guard – and Elidyr, and Shadow and Magnolia – closed ranks around him.

“Stay close,” he said, to them all. “If you’re outside this when I drop it, it won’t be good for you.”

Elidyr drew back his bow and fired, a long arrow zipping forwards and burying itself in the throat of one of the figures. It flew true even through the wind; the Ashebow’s magic would not be trumped by something as simple as a breeze. Alfo began to fire as well, bright flashes of light that manifested from a glimmering silvery shortbow with no visible string or arrows that he’d pulled from his belt-pouch.

Tam gathered his ravens and sent them out in a whirling cloud. They streaked forwards and surrounded one of the coldhearted, digging their beaks into the frozen flesh, ripping it to pieces.

But even as Elidyr and Alfo kept firing, the coldhearted drew closer. The wind was picking up, too, whipping across the snow. Shadow lowered her muzzle and growled into the wind.

<These we can take,> she said, to the group. <These we can defeat. They will make you stronger.>

In response, both Elidyr and Alfo fired, arrows whipping away to slam into their respective targets. Manny flung a few small darts of flame away from the group too, setting one of the coldhearted alight and dropping it to the ground.

The wind grew stronger. Tam squinted through it; was there another storm coming?

Wait a moment.

The wind was coming from the forest, not the lake. The weather of the Feral Bosk emanated from the lake. This couldn’t be a storm, and it wasn’t something normal.

“Watch out,” he said, and then as he looked he managed to see through the wind the half-shapeless figure it formed.

Hovering between the shambling coldhearted that lumbered towards the Guard and their allies was a twisting, upright tunnel of wind, mist and snow combining in a whirling shape that had the semblance of two arms and wide dark eyes, empty holes in its form.

An elemental. Tam had seen them before, usually earth elementals minding their own business in the woods outside Sindaleth. He’d seen an air elemental once from a distance, and had chosen not to interact with it, which had been a smart move.

He wouldn’t have a choice but to interact with this one. “Elemental,” he called.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Val grumbled, though he was barely audible above the rising sound of the wind.

Magnolia readied her shield, nervous. Shadow took a step from the group, shoulders hunched. <That will be harder to fight than the coldhearted,> she said, sounding almost nervous about the prospect. <You made a good call on the shelter. We’ll need it if we can’t kill it immediately.>

“Let’s see about that,” Manny murmured to himself, focusing on a brilliant, marble-sized sphere of fire that was slowly growing between his palms.

Elidyr switched targets and fired an arrow into the elemental. It was caught up in the wind and thrown out again, clattering uselessly against a tree. Apparently, the elemental itself _was_ too much for the Ashebow.

“Arrows aren’t going to work very well on that,” Elidyr said, staring at it with wide eyes.

“Don’t worry!” Manny said cheerfully. “Just duck!”

“Pardon?” Elidyr said, and then Alfo grabbed his shoulder and yanked him down as Manny spun and launched the little sphere of flame over their lowered heads.

“If you don’t duck, he shoots you in the back,” Alfo grunted, casting a glare over at him.

“That’s why I tell you to,” Manny said.

The marble arced into the elemental’s form. It vanished in the wind, and Tam feared that it would toss it out again, but before it had a chance the entire thing was enveloped in a blossom of flame that burst upwards, scorching the ground and flash-melting a great deal of the snow into steam.

“Or… well, that’ll work, I suppose,” the king said, lowering his bow slightly.

Alfo stood up again and fired an arrow into one of the few remaining coldhearted left. Tam moved his ravens to another one, and as he watched Shadow bounded out from the group towards the elemental.

<I can finish it off,> she said as she went and stopped a distance away, letting out a breath. She opened her jaws – wide, too wide, far too wide for them to still be hinged, or connected as a wolf’s jaws should have been – and breathed in, that peculiar scraping scream echoing through her throat and lungs.

This time, when she did it, Tam could see the air twist and rend in front of her. The elemental began to writhe and fold in on itself, screaming. Several of Tam’s ravens were caught in the area; he saw them stagger in flight and drop to the snow, twitching.

The elemental collapsed inwards and condensed itself into a small knot of whirling wind, which grew tighter and tighter until it suddenly exploded outwards in a burst of misty air. It screamed as it went, but the vibrations in the air from Shadow’s consuming howl trapped it, and it trailed away into silence.

Shadow closed all her eyes for a moment. She took a breath, form swelling, then let it out, opening her eyes again.

On her sides, new eyes opened – mostly black, the black of Tam’s ravens, but one whirling white and filled with mist.

“…alright,” Elidyr said.

<Taken care of,> Shadow said, and she sounded satisfied… and _sated_.

As if they were answering her, a chorus of howls rang out through the trees. Shadow’s head whipped around, her eyes going wide – all of them. <That is not taken care of,> she said, and backed up a few steps.

“Everyone close to me!” Val shouted, and Shadow turned and bounded back to the group just as he bobbed his head to an unknown rhythm and plucked a few strings of his harm. Abruptly there was a soft glow from the harp that streaked upwards, then burst outwards like a firework and showered down around them in a glittering silvery dome.

The glitter faded, but the dome remained, faint and translucent white. Val let out a breath, lowering the harp. “Just in time,” he sighed, turning towards the forest.

Forms were moving through the trees – not humanoid forms. Well, not _fully_ humanoid, anyways. The silver-white pelts of winter wolves emerged from between the snow-covered tree trunks, blue eyes gleaming in the moonlight, and behind them and beside them were upright beings covered in fur, with vicious clawed hands and long-muzzled faces and humanoid forms.

Werewolves. Tam glanced back in the direction of the lake – they wouldn’t be able to just run for it, because the wolves were far faster than them. No, they’d have to fight.

Somehow.

At least they had a bastion of shelter to hide within from the attacks. They would be surrounded, but at least they had an area they could hide in, for the moment.

Elidyr looked to the Guard. “We’ll have to fight these one by one,” he said. “We can’t take them all at once.”

“Oh, definitely,” Alfo said.

“Use the dome as much as you can,” Val added, poking his head over Elidyr’s shoulder. “You can’t fire through it, but you can duck in and out as much as you like. I just can’t leave it, or it dissolves. They can’t get in no matter what. It’s invincible.”

“Very useful,” Elidyr murmured, and pulled a green-feathered arrow from his quiver.

Alfo gripped the silvery bow in one hand and stared outwards. The wolves didn’t bother running forwards; they knew the Guard and their allies were surrounded, with nowhere to run. They stalked carefully through the snow.

Together, both Elidyr and Alfo stepped out of the dome, firing arrows at the same wolf. It leaped to the side, but the arrows – well, the arrow and the flash of light – both caught it, one in the neck and one in the flank. It yelped and fell back, whining.

From there, it was a whirl of action and blood. The enemies surged forwards; the wolves leaped at anyone who stepped out of the dome, but they couldn’t see inside it, so they couldn’t tell where someone was likely to appear. Elidyr switched to his swords when they got too close, stowing the Ashebow on his back and striking with the dual blades in a whirl of steel and silver.

The winter wolves howled, and spat out whirling cones of ice and frigid wind, but the dome held and sheltered everyone within from the blasts. The cold meant nothing to Val’s magic.

“Oh, I’m so glad this is working,” Val said, from where he was sitting in the center of the dome.

“Are you doing to do anything else?” Alfo said, glancing over to him.

“Like what? I can’t leave the dome! Not the quick version, anyway.”

“Fair enough.”

Tam caught something else in his mind. At this point, having felt it twice already, he could sense it like a deep pulse thudding through the land under his feet and the air in his lungs. It came from the woods, from the way they’d come, following them. It was a powerful, steady thump. Every single step.

The Pursuer was here.

“He’s coming,” Tam said, turning in the direction of the power that radiate through the snow and trees. In the distance, between two tree trunks, he saw the form of the Pursuer trudging ceaselessly through the snow towards them.

“What?” Manny said, glancing over.

“The Pursuer has found us again.”

“Oh, fuck,” Val said, glancing over. “That isn’t good. I wonder if he can get through the dome? He _is_ ethereal in nature…”

“Let’s hope we don’t find out,” Manny said.

Tam closed his eyes for a moment, then flipped his staff sideways and gripped it like a railing. When he opened them, he traced a line in the snow with his mind and thrust power into it.

A wall sprang up, a wall of brilliant flame. It cast shadows through the entire clearing and cut the Pursuer off from them, completely blocking the pathway down which they had come.

“Whoa, shit!” Val shouted, scrambling back a pace on the ground. “Dear gods, Manny!”

“Wasn’t me,” Manny said.

“Tam?!”

“It will not stop him,” Tam said, “but it may slow him down.”

Elidyr darted out of the dome, dealt a few swift blows to a werewolf, and danced back in. It lunged at him, but crashed into the dome and scrabbled ineffectually at the smooth surface.

“They’re not too smart, are they?” Alfo said, mimicking the move. The werewolf on his end cracked its skull on the dome and retreated, whimpering, and he stepped out and dealt it a swift crack to the skull with his axe, dropping it into the snow.

“Not particularly,” Elidyr said. He stepped out and cut a werewolf right across the chest, sending it stumbling backwards; it flailed at him with one claw and caught him on the cheek, but the wound wasn’t deep, and he didn’t even seem to notice it.

Tam could feel the Pursuer’s presence growing closer. As he watched, chunks of ice began to form from the half-melted snow, frost climbing over their surfaces. They shifted, rolling and sliding, towards the dome, to the point where it began to hem them in.

“Not good,” Val said nervously. “Not good!”

“I know,” Tam said. “I am doing what I can.”

“Manny,” Val said, whirling to look to the sorcerer, “got another one of those really big fireballs?”

“How kind of you to ask,” Manny replied, already with his hands cupped together. There was a faint glow emanating from between his fingers. “When he’s close enough, I’ll do it.”

“Great!” Val glanced outwards. “Alfo, King, in a – WATCH OUT!”

Elidyr turned, but not swiftly enough; a werewolf pounced on him and sank its teeth into his shoulder, deep into the flesh. He retaliated with a swift stab to the throat and wriggled out from beneath it as it thrashed and died, but he had to pause, kneeling in the snow, staring downwards.

“No,” Val said, picking up on something even Tam couldn’t grasp. “No – don’t! Don’t! _Don’t give in!”_

The king shook his head, reaching up to touch the bite, then stood, staggering, and backed into the dome. “I’m fine,” he said, frowning. “I’m fine.”

“Thank fucking god,” Val muttered.

The flames of the wall flickered, brilliant, and through them Tam saw a figure approaching: the Pursuer was still headed for them. He looked much worse for wear given the flames, but he was still making his way relentlessly in their direction.

Outside, Alfo slammed the blade of his axe into the neck of the last werewolf. “It’s safe,” he called, and Manny immediately hurried outside the dome, spun, and elegantly launched a glowing sphere towards the Pursuer.

The resulting bloom of fire was so bright Tam had to turn away, hiding his face. Even through Val’s dome, he could still feel the heat that just the light of the fire produced. The explosion shook the trees and ground, and when the light died down (Tam dropped his wall, as well; there was no need for it) there was absolutely nothing left of the Pursuer.

Manny let out a breath, stepping back into the dome. “Well, that’s dealt with,” he said, dusting his hands off.

“For now,” Elidyr said, with one hand on the wound. It was slowly healing under the pulse of magic that emanated from his palm.

“Yes, I know, he’ll be back forever,” Val said, rolling his eyes. “We’d best get a move on and find the Maiden before he does.”

“It won’t be that easy,” Elidyr said.

<Of course it won’t,> Shadow said.

“What do you mean?” Tam asked.

Elidyr lowered his hand and slipped his swords back into their sheaths after wiping them clean with a soft rag on his belt. “I mean,” he said, “that it’s time you learned the truth.”


	32. The Maiden of the Lake

Val opened his mouth.

“No,” Tam said, softly. Val shut his mouth.

“You have exceeded my expectations, and earned my trust enough that I feel you deserve to know everything that is really happening,” the king said, looking down at the snow. He folded his hands together, rubbing the palm of one with the thumb of his other. “The Pursuer, firstly, is not… a being. He’s an idea. An embodiment of a concept. In that case, the concept… is the endless hunt. A chase without end.” He looked to Alfo. “That’s your greatest fear, isn’t it?”

Alfo said nothing.

“It’s manifested here as him. He’s been sent by the Maiden – the Ice Maiden. She’s sent him to hunt me down.” Elidyr took a deep breath, ever so slightly shaking at the edges.

“Why?” Val said.

“Because she wants me to join her,” Elidyr said, eyes on the snow. “I am supposed – ah… listen. Long ago when I founded the Heroes’ Guild, I had a fate. I traded that fate with someone else’s. My new fate was to marry the Maiden.”

“To fucking what,” Val said, deadpan.

“To marry her.” Elidyr glanced out towards the lake. “It was my fate to do so, and I – I ran. I was scared.”

“Of marrying someone.” Val’s voice was flat, and he folded his arms, staring at Elidyr.

“Because I refused to fulfill my promise, my city was plagued,” Elidyr said, staring at the ice. “I – I came here to find her. But she’s furious with me.”

“Understandably,” Val muttered.

“I know my choice was wrong,” Elidyr said, purposefully keeping his breathing even. “I had another, someone I wanted to marry before her, but I – I have to fulfill my fate. So I can’t marry who I choose. I had to come to terms with this, so I… left. And now I’m here, searching for the Maiden. As fate decrees it, I must marry her.” His tone was brittle, wounded; he didn’t want to do this.

“She’s probably not that bad,” Manny said, with a shrug.

“She’s trying to kill us,” Alfo said, glancing up at him. Manny only shrugged.

Elidyr turned towards the lake. “There’s nothing stopping us from reaching her now,” he said, softly, and let out a breath.

“Then let’s _go_ already,” Val muttered. “What are we waiting for?”

No one said anything, so he turned and walked out of the dome, headed for the lake. It shimmered and disappeared when he stepped over the threshold.

The rest of the Guard followed, surrounding Elidyr. The air was clear; overhead the clouds had cleared and the full moon was washing over the snow again, throwing everything into stark contrast.

Nothing attacked them as they headed down the slope to the edge of the lake. Tam looked out over it – in the center of the lake was an island, and from it grew a tree far larger than the one Elidyr had been living in. It was no Home Tree, but had Tam never seen the Home Tree, this one would be the largest he’d ever seen.

Its branches were barren, cold and dead. The bark was coated in frost, and the entire thing was twisted and dark. It was not a healthy tree.

“She’s there,” Elidyr said, just barely a whisper.

The lake was hidden under the snow, but Tam knew it had to be frozen over. Val, surprisingly, was the first of them to step out onto the ice, testing it.

“Holds me,” he said, with a shrug. “So most of us should be okay.”

Elidyr followed him, and Manny, and Tam, with Magnolia after and Alfo and Shadow bringing up the rear. They made their way across the ice – Elidyr taking the lead after a few moments – in complete silence, the only sound their boots in the snow.

The ice was solid. It held them completely. Tam wouldn’t have been surprised if in this weather it was solid ice all the way to the lakebed, but he couldn’t know for sure. He left his ravens at the shore to begin with, but brought them over after a short time, sending them into the branches of the tree.

They only served to make the scene more menacing. He saw Elidyr glance up nervously at them a few times. The rest of the Guard was used to their presence and took no note of it.

Up on the shore, there was a small pathway of stones leading up into the barren, brushy undergrowth. Elidyr stepped up it, fingers twitching every time they brushed one of his sword hilts, and for a moment he paused.

There was a doorway between the roots of the tree, and a pathway that led down into the earth. Tam could see it was a spiral stairway that led below the tree, though how far down he didn’t know. Elidyr wavered for a moment before stepping forwards and leading them down.

It was completely dark, but there was a faint blue glow that emanated from the bottom after only a few moments. Elidyr emerged first, into a cavern beneath the tree lined with cold blue lights. Tiny forms flitted between them, a pale whitish color, and Tam could spot the occasional glimpse of wings. Other than that, the only other inhabitant of the room was a woman lounging in a silver-wood throne on the other end.

She was dressed in a sheer shift of some type, silky cloth falling about her. The hem of it was tattered, and the cloth itself was silvery-white, reflecting the lights of the chamber. Her skin was pale and coated with frost, and her eyes were a clear ice-blue. Her hair seemed brittle, and hung down her back and over her shoulders. Her body was frail, emaciated; she looked half-dead.

Elidyr cleared his throat and stepped forwards. The Maiden raised her head, looking up, and seemed mildly surprised.

“Elidyr,” she said, and her voice was cracked and rough, hoarse.

“Maiden,” he said, bowing to her.

“Have you come to answer to fate?”

“I have,” Elidyr said, swallowing.

“Are you ready to fulfill your promise?”

“I –“ Elidyr paused, then nodded. “Yes.”

The Maiden stood from the throne, stepping down from it to stride across the room to the king. “Then come to me,” she said, and he stepped forwards, crossing the other half of the distance. The Maiden held out one hand and he took it and kissed the back of her fingers, shivering.

As he did so, the Maiden sighed. “I wondered if you would ever appear,” she said.

“I didn’t want to, not at first. But – I must.”

“Is that all? Duty? Fate?”

“No,” Elidyr said, and shook his head. “I – I really… should not run when I don’t even know what I’m running from.”

The Maiden smiled. Genuinely, not that cold, dead, cruel look that Tam had seen on so many faces. “Now you learn,” she said, softly, and Elidyr dropped her hand so she could wrap her arms around his neck and embrace him.

Abruptly, Tam realized his breath no longer steamed in the air. Everyone glanced around – the blue of the room faded, paling first, then deepening into a rich gold. The flitting creatures vanished, and the cold was swept from the room by a warm spring breeze. Light began to pour in as the cavern roof shifted, sending particles of dust down and letting streams of sun pour down between the roots of the tree above. It was beyond welcome – after hours and hours of snow and darkness, of that eternal moonlit night, Tam had never been so relieved to see real sunlight.

The Maiden, too, changed. The cloth of her dress became a light green, and the hems remained tattered, but no longer were rotting or dirty – now they were fluttering ribbons of gauze and silk. Her hair deepened to a rich black, and her skin to a warm chestnut, eyes going from blue to a gleaming emerald. Her body no longer looked like it was dying, either; now she was a stunningly beautiful woman, tall as Val and easily twice his weight. Tam remembered the original story of the Maiden – she was a dryad. This Maiden was also a dryad. Of course. That would account for her connection to the woods…

After a moment, the Maiden pulled away from Elidyr, who seemed too confused to speak, and looked to the Guard. “Thank you,” she said, to them, “for your help. I have long been trapped here as… that, my realm sunk under ice and snow. It’s a relief to be free of it.”

“Of course, Lady,” Val said, ever gracious.

“Alfo,” the Maiden said, “you have shown _tremendous_ bravery. My tool, the Pursuer, was Elidyr’s fear – but also your fear. And yet you faced it. You fought it. Even though it was the image of everything you were frightened of, and everything you still _are_ frightened of. That’s what you’re here for – to fight your fears. To become a warrior great enough to do even that.”

“…I see,” Alfo said, after a moment, and nodded. “I see.”

“Good,” the Maiden said. She patted Elidyr on the hand and left him standing in the center of the room, walking over to Alfo. “Your fears were the instrument of my hand when I was the Ice Maiden; will you now be the instrument of my hand as Maiden of the Lake?”

“Yes,” Alfo said, without hesitation.

“Then I name you Warden of the Ei’dath Woods,” the Maiden said, “and congratulate you on following the path of your fate.”

Alfo rarely looked surprised, but now, he almost did. He blinked a few times, silent.

“Fate,” the Maiden said softly, placing one hand on Alfo’s shoulder, “is not something you can flee. And it’s not something you should _want_ to flee.”

With that she lowered her hand to the trident, the weapon that Alfo did not usually use. She laid one hand on it. “This is a holy weapon,” she said, brushing her fingers over the burnished metal. “This is the weapon of your goddess.”

“It is,” Alfo said, nodding.

The Maiden smiled. “You have set the balance of my realm right,” she said. “Remember this when things are dark for you. You are brave, and strong, and you do not give up.”

Alfo nodded.

The Maiden stepped back. “As for the rest of you,” she said, “I would give you gifts, tokens of my appreciation. If you would.”

“Before – ah, my Lady,” Val said, holding up one hand. “Before any of that… Sindaleth is plagued. Its people are sick –“

“Of that, I am aware,” the Maiden said. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Brilliant. And – um…” Val paused. “I would ask a favor of you rather than a gift.”

“What favor?” the Maiden said, raising an eyebrow.

In response, Val unbuckled the bag of holding and laid it on the floor, wincing. “So, we had – ah… we had to. Um.” He paused, letting out a breath. “One of our own was a lycanthrope, and he was asleep, so we had to kill him. Before he woke up. So that he wouldn’t, you know, wake up and attack and curse us all. Could you… fix him? He’s quite dead.” Val paused, eyes flicking down to the dirt. “He’s in the bag. I put him in there.”

_Interesting. This is somewhat unexpected…_

The Maiden sighed. “I see,” she said, and motioned with one hand. “Bring your friend out. I will do what I can for him.”

“Oh, I really hope you can save him,” Val murmured, and reached into the bag, wincing as he did so. He pulled Kiran from its depths, straining a little to pull the halfling out, and rolled him onto the ground.

He was very dead, and a bit blue due to the lack of oxygen. Val swallowed hard and rubbed his palms on his cloak, as if trying to wipe something off of them.

The Maiden knelt next to Kiran’s body and looked him over. “He has a strong soul,” she murmured, and placed her hand over his chest. She held it above him, moving it back and forth, and stopped over the where the scar on his leg was. “This,” she said, “is…”

She paused, and for a moment nothing happened. Then a dark blotch appeared in the fabric, and dripped upwards like ink. The Maiden caught it in the air and it hung in a wobbling sphere above her palm. “Lycanthropy,” she said, “is a curse, and it is one that can be removed.”

“Oh, that’s very good,” Val said, faintly. He stared at the orb; the Maiden turned and tossed it into the dirt, in a patch of sunlight. It hissed into steam and vanished.

She reached out again and touched the center of Kiran’s chest, and after a few moments, his color returned, and he heaved in a breath and blinked open his eyes.

“Holy shit,” Val said, eyes wide. “I didn’t think that would work.”

“What’s happening?” Kiran asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” Val said, waving a hand. “You had lycanthropy, but it’s cured now.”

“That sounds bad,” Kiran said.

“It was.”

The Maiden stood, gestured, and from her hand fell a ripple of light that solidified into a cloak. She swept it around Val’s shoulders as he knelt next to Kiran and he blinked in surprise.

“You’re – for me?” he asked, touching the fabric. “But I don’t deserve…”

“Yes, for you,” the Maiden said, nodding. “May it protect you when danger strikes.”

“…thank you,” Val said, quietly.

The Maiden turned to face Manny, and held out a dagger, which materialized from the space between two beams of light. The dark blade glittered with frost. “A reminder,” she said, rather ruefully, “of the trials you suffered for me.”

“I’m not meant for the cold,” Manny said, nodding thoughtfully. He took the dagger and stowed it in his belt, fiddling occasionally with the pommel stone. He kept moving it, and Tam couldn’t understand why until he heard him muttering about where the color would go best in his outfit.

To Tam, the Maiden gave what looked at first to be a round piece of wood. When she ran her hands over the surface, however, he realized it was a shield.

“This will protect you,” she said. “You’re getting stronger, and faster, but you still need some protection. Take this, and may it guard you against the fiercest blows.”

“Thank you,” Tam said, bowing to her.

The Maiden stepped back. “You can rest here,” she said, “but you should probably return back to Sindaleth soon. You can easily through my tree – it is alive, and so is the portal back to your realm.”

“Will I go with them?” Elidyr asked her, speaking up finally.

“No,” the Maiden said, “or at least, not yet. You are King now, of Winter and Spring, and you will rule by my side. I am of Summer and Autumn. You will be my counterpart.”

“I… could learn to deal with that,” Elidyr said, and the Maiden rolled her eyes, shaking her head ever so slightly.

“For now, you will stay here. You will be allowed to return, of course, any time you need to – you are still Elvenking, and Sindaleth needs you. But the Assembly can handle most problems.”

“Oh my god, I nearly forgot,” Val said suddenly, standing. “Elidyr, question.”

“Yes?”

“Can I have some of your blood?”

“…I’m _sorry?_ ”

Val pulled a folded piece of paper from a pocket. “It’s for something Rhoskan wanted,” he said, struggling to get the paper unfolded. “He gave us instructions, see, or more like lists of things he wants us to get for him so he can make us some really cool things. He, ah, he said – here, it says, King’s Blood, from an elven king –“

“Flower,” Elidyr said loudly, alarmed. “That’s a flower. King’s Blood is a flower that grows on the graves of old elven-kings. You probably want the flower.”

“Oh, a _flower,_ ” Val said, and pulled a stub of a pencil from somewhere, scribbling on the paper. “I didn’t realize it was a – you know, that makes quite a bit more sense. Can I have some flowers?”

“I…. do not see why not.”

“Thanks!”

Elidyr let out a long breath, clearly relieved. “Got to admit, that’s not a question I have ever been asked before,” he murmured.

“I get that a lot,” Val mused.

Tam held back. The Guard gathered mostly around Val and Elidyr, but the Maiden – after a time – stepped away and came over to him.

“You are worried,” she said. “Why?”

“Many things,” Tam said, after a moment. He extended his hand and a glittering butterfly landed on his outstretched fingers, gently waving shimmering wings in a shaft of sunlight. “I wish I could see further than I can.”

“That I can help you with,” the Maiden said quietly, and gestured to a small trickling spring of water that ran down one wall, dropping from rock to rock until it vanished beneath the floor. “Drink, and see.”

This was not the kind of offer one refused. Tam stepped over, cupped some of the water in his hands, and drank.

In a moment he was inundated with flashes of images – many of them he’d seen before, but many were new. Simple scenes, of him, of the Guard members, of people he didn’t recognize. A man in armor, a woman in armor, a cloaked figure who vanished from sight, a wretched-looking book that throbbed with darkness, a silver dragon –

“Ah,” he said, and expected the images to fade. But they did not.

The Maiden watched him carefully. “You have a gift already,” she observed. “This will only add to it.”

“For how long?”

“Forever.”

Tam was silent. “I – I see,” he said, after a moment. This was genuinely startling and surprising to him – he hadn’t expected a gift like this. “Thank you, Maiden.”

“It is what you need,” she replied, and nodded to him once – almost a bow, just of her head – before stepping away.

Tam was the only one who looked out over the lake before they left; he stepped up the stairway to call his ravens, and found that the previously ice-covered lake was now melted and clear underneath a brilliant summer sky. The tree above him was in full leaf, rustling and casting shadows over the island and the shallows of the lake next to it, and beyond the far shores the forest spread verdant and full for miles and miles. He could not see the end of it.

This was right. This was what was supposed to happen. As he thought of it, the images of the Pursuer and the frozen realm faded from his mind somewhat, into memory. This trial had been completed.

He rejoined the Guard and followed Val through the portal. Alfo went last, Shadow leaping out of the portal before him. He took a little longer than anyone expected, and when he emerged from the trunk of the tree in the woods, he seemed… calm, almost.

“Alfo?” Val said, raising an eyebrow. “You good?”

“Very,” Alfo said. “Better than ever.” He smiled up at them, stowing his trident on his back. “We should go back, yeah?”

“Right,” Val said nodding. “Let’s go.”

They stood on the shores of a clear lake, but there was no island and no tree. Now there was just a portal, shimmering behind them, and the Ei’dath Woods around them.

“We’d better tell Sindaleth what’s going on,” Val sighed, rolling his eyes. “Let them know their king has married a dryad and won’t be staying on the same plane as he usually does.”

They turned and headed back through the woods. Surprisingly, there was a well-worn path through the trees that took them out to the main road, and it was only a few minutes’ walk before they saw Sindaleth before them.

Towering over it, as always, was the Home Tree. Its branches were in spring leaf, and it cast shade over the whole city. This was ordinary; this was as it should be.

But what made Tam pause for just a moment before hurrying to catch up with his group was that, for the first time in his memory, or the memory of many druids he’d known, the Home Tree was in bloom.


	33. Legal Recourse

Sindaleth was open to the woods, and when they re-entered, no one seemed to even notice that they’d been gone. It was morning – Tam frowned at the sun, squinting, and wondered if they’d even been gone for more than an hour or so.

Perhaps they had, perhaps they hadn’t. He would have to check.

“Alright,” Val said, “we’ve all got things that need done.”

“Manny needs healing,” Manny said, waving a plaintive hand.

“Manny needs healing,” Val noted, nodding. “What else is everyone thinking about doing? We’re _not_ leaving this city today. We need to rest.”

“Library,” Tam said.

“I’m going looking for new weapons,” Alfo said. “There’s a market here for them.”

“And a black market,” Val said.

“That too,” Alfo said, nodding.

“See if you can get information about what’s happened here in our absence while you’re there,” Val said.

“You should probably do that,” Alfo said.

“Why?”

“You’re our… leader?” Alfo frowned to himself.

Tam dipped his head, hiding a smile under his hood. Manny, in the background, snorted.

“Thanks,” Val said, flatly. “I guess I’ll go – but I need to go get that flower first. Before I forget. I’ll meet you back at the market later. Manny, can you go find healing on your own, or do you need someone to come with you?”

“I can do it myself,” Manny muttered. “I don’t need a chaperone.”

“If you’re sure. Everyone else alright?”

Magnolia and Kiran exchanged a glance. “We’ll just go back to the inn,” Kiran said, rubbing his hands together awkwardly. “I’m not in the mood to go out and about. You know?”

“Completely understandable,” Val said. “See you then.”

They crossed over the threshold to Sindaleth and immediately split up, headed in different directions. Tam headed for the Home Tree – the druids of the land were centered around it, and it sheltered the library.

They let him in with no complaints, and he headed over to where he’d found the stories of the Maiden before.

But that wasn’t what he was looking for. No, he was looking for a librarian, someone to _talk_ to.

Unusual, yes, but necessary. He found them, a young elf with a snake hanging around their neck and a ridiculously large quill.

“Hmm?” they said, looking up, as he approached.

“I would like to update the records of the library,” Tam said, in Elvish.

The elf raised their eyebrows. “Oh?” they said, clearly a little confused. “I’m not sure…”

“I spoke to the King, and the Maiden of the Lake,” Tam said. “I would like to relay the story to the records of the library.”

The elf paused for a moment, then picked up their quill. “Please,” they said, gesturing, “have a seat.”

Their name was Ilyon, and they listened quite well to Tam’s story, scrawling every word down in a messy, beautiful shorthand. When he was finished, they went back and reviewed a few parts of it they’d not gotten clearly, then nodded and blew the last of the drying sand off the parchment. “Fascinating,” they said. “I’ll need to correlate this, but your word as a druid is enough to get it into submissions and past most of the waiting time.”

“I don’t care what happens to it,” Tam said. “I just needed to update the records.”

“Noted.” Ilyon set their quill aside. “I’ll handle it from here on out.”

“Thank you.”

Tam left the library several hours after he’d entered. He paused – he wanted to go find the rest of the Guard, and ensure they didn’t get into any trouble, but…

Turning, Tam walked back through the library and left through the courtyard, towards the Home Tree. The trunk towered above him and to reach it he had to make his way around the massive roots that plunged themselves through the soft earth. The courtyard began in prairie grass, tall and brown and drying because the Home Tree let just enough light through for it to thrive, but closer to the roots the grass died away and was replaced with a lush sea of ferns and mosses. The ground here was uneven, lumpy from branches and tree trunks that had been brought in to add nourishment to the soil surrounding the Tree. There was no path through the undergrowth and Tam watched where he put his feet, stepping carefully over a line of ants one time and a few steps later a fat yellow slug.

Tam moved up, between two roots, and they loomed around him like walls. But it was safe here, quiet, peaceful, hidden from any prying eyes or chaotic worldly bothers. It was comfortable. Tam laid his staff against the root and stretched one hand out, placing it on the tree’s bark.

The Home Tree thrummed with life. “Hello,” he said, quietly. “You know all. But maybe the Shadowfell is beyond your sight.” He took a few breaths, then began to tell the story over again. Everything – even his feelings towards certain parts of it, and his opinions.

After that was done, he waited, then – on impulse, and to his own surprise – relayed his tale from the beginning. From Val’s insistence that he put his name down in the big leather-bound book in Elder Vale til now, every step of the way.

It took a while. It took hours, actually, and by the time he was done his mouth was parched and his throat was scraped a bit, almost raw. The sun was far past noon, edging towards evening, broad beams of light cutting at an angle through the branches of the Home Tree’s spreading canopy.

“That is what we have done,” Tam said, after a moment, to the Tree. He had gone from standing next to it to sitting at the roots, leaning back against the bark, staff propped up beside him. The insects on the staff were freely mingling with those that made their quiet way across the Home Tree’s trunk.

The Tree did not answer, but Tam got the sense that it was listening.

“Where do we go next?” Tam frowned, shaking his head. “How do we continue doing… whatever it is that we’re doing? I know that two visits to the Shadowfell – both where we altered the realm somehow, changed its ruler – mean that we are part of something greater.” He paused. “Truth be told, we have always been part of something greater.”

Silence, and wind through the rustling branches overhead. Distantly he could hear the din of the city beyond the walls that guarded the Tree, but it was almost silent, barely audible between the chatter of spring insects amongst the grass. The taller stalks rustled together slightly in the breeze, green stalks waving back and forth. He heard something rustling through the undergrowth and stayed still enough to see a chipmunk pop up on one of the half-rotted logs, peer around with sharp dark eyes, and vanish into the ferns again.

He looked back up to the Tree’s canopy. “Where do we go next? Where are we needed?”

A-ha. That was the question he needed to ask. The Home Tree didn’t physically respond, but Tam suddenly felt a surge of emotion and images flashed before his eyes.

_An island in a cold, choppy sea, pine trees and rough rocks. Mountains in the background, enclosing this place. A flash of silver. A high tower, white, covered in ice. Frost-coated bookshelves and armor in a circular chamber. A frigid wind, fraught with particles of ice. A pained scream._

The visions faded, and Tam blinked several times, trying to figure out where that was. An island – there weren’t that many islands, but this was –

The Home Tree wasn’t finished with him. He was struck, almost physically, by another set of vivid images.

_A vast, burning desert. A city of intrigue. An endless chasm, a scar in the ground, deep and black and eternal. Blue sky, cloudless. The same sky, blotted out by sand. Piercing orange eyes. A dark entry to a sandstone crypt. A golden dragon turning under the midsummer sun._

Those faded, too, but they were etched in Tam’s mind, clear as day. He took a breath.

That place, he knew. He had never been there, but there was only one place in the world like it.

“Oscus,” he said, quietly. The great southern desert, beyond the scar left over from the war against the dragons, home of the yuan-ti.

And the other…? The sea on Pabshaw’s coast was not like that, not like a vast lake surrounded by mountains. That was a fjord of some type, cut into the land.

Ah. “Osden.”

The Home Tree didn’t respond to him, but it didn’t ignore him.

“Which one, though? Where do we go?”

There was no answer. Apparently, it was up to him to decide.

He remained there for a short while longer, but eventually remembered that as a human he had to eat. He sighed, pulling himself up, and took his staff from the tree.

And stared at it. He hadn’t noticed before, but – the Home Tree had creatures all around it, including a species of beetle he’d seen nowhere else. Now, he could see the beetles swarming all over his staff, exploring its cracks and crevices, making themselves at home.

“Are you sure?” Tam asked, looking up to the Tree. He got no response.

That wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no, either. The Tree didn’t respond if it didn’t have to. If it wanted him not to take the beetles, it would have let him know, somehow.

He carefully gripped the staff in one hand, making sure not to harm any of the beetles. They skittered around and over his fingers, bright red shells winking in the occasional glimmer of light that made its way through the Home Tree’s canopy.

Osden, or Oscus. One of the two. Midsummer was far away – but that dragon had been unmistakably underneath a midsummer sky. So… not Oscus. It was the wrong time for that.

Osden, then.

Tam closed his eyes for a moment and tried to use his ravens to find the rest of the Guard. He checked the inn, but didn’t see them; to his surprise, he finally located them in the business areas of the city, outside a potion shop.

Odd. What were they still doing there?

He made his way to the store. By the time he got there, the light was beginning to fade, and when he stepped in, he paused, frowning.

Manny stood behind the counter. There were things knocked over on the selves, and things missing; the entire place was a mess. “What,” Tam said.

“This is my potion shop,” Manny said, brightly. “I work here. I own it.”

“What.”

“It’s true,” Val said, emerging from the aisleways. Half his attention was focused on a small corked jar he was holding in one hand; inside were a few dark red flowers, freshly picked. He looked up to Tam. “He, um… acquired it.”

“How. Why.”

“The original shopkeeper left, so it’s mine now,” Manny said.

“That – well, see, I would have said that’s not how it works, but unfortunately, that _is_ how it works according to the guard. So… I suppose we have a potion shop now.” Val glanced around. “Not bad, really, but I’m not managing it. Manny, you’ll have to do it on your own.”

“I’m sure learning how to business isn’t that hard.”

Val winced, and Tam remembered he’d been trained as a merchant growing up. “It’s – alright, well… no, I can’t devote time to this. I can’t.” Val crossed his arms. “I have to stand back and watch this burn.”

“I haven’t set it on fire yet!” Manny protested.

“I love that you, personally, added a ‘yet.’”

Manny shrugged.

“What happened,” Tam said, glancing between them.

“A lot,” Val said, with a sigh, entire form sagging. “Manny – uh, long story short, Manny imprisoned the shopkeep and took over his shop.”

“It was an accident! I couldn’t get him out!” Manny said, from the counter.

Val continued without acknowledging him. “After that, there was a minor earthquake, and Manny managed to accidentally drink a potion that turned him into a cloud and then we had to deal with _that_ , and he couldn’t speak, so he had to keep pointing at letters until I got the meaning of whatever he was trying to get across –“

“I’m getting large metal letters put up on the wall in the whole alphabet so that next time it’s easier to communicate,” Manny said, somberly.

“ – and once he finally got back to his snerson body, a guard stopped by and showed us where that shopkeep had been trapped, because _apparently_ it’s normal to have secret trapdoor cellars you can become easily locked in underneath your store.” Val glared at the floorboards. “He quit, so Manny said he owned the shop now, and, um… nobody argued.”

Tam didn’t know how to respond.

“Anyhow,” Val said, slipping the tiny jar back into his bag, “Alfo’s in the back. We’ve got some discussing to do, I believe.”

“I know where we’re going next,” Tam said.

“Fantastic! Back room.”

Manny dutifully went to the front of the shop and locked the door, turning around the little sign that hung in the window so the word “Closed” displayed to anybody who walked by. “What?” he said, when he turned and saw Val and Tam staring at him. “I have to let people know. Otherwise they could just walk in and steal stuff.”

“Like the entire shop,” Val said, and turned, heading for the back room.

Alfo and Magnolia were already there, waiting. Kiran was not present. The rest of the Guard filed in and shut the door behind them.

“So,” Val said, glancing to Tam, “you said you knew where we need to go next?”

“Osden,” Tam said. “I spoke to the Home Tree. It has shown us the way.”

“Perfect,” Alfo said, eyes lighting up. “I need to go that direction anyways.”

“What for?” Manny asked, glancing over with a raised eyebrow. Alfo only shrugged, silent. He wasn’t telling.

“Osden it is, then,” Val said, with a sigh. “Though perhaps we ought to go back home first –“

“No,” Alfo said, interrupting. “We’re already far north. If we pass south of Crisidea we can make it to Osden quicker; going back to Tila would be a needless detour.”

Tam narrowed his eyes over at Alfo – this was oddly pointed, and strangely insistent. The dwarf was hiding something. He wanted to go that way for a reason, a time-sensitive reason, but Tam couldn’t possibly imagine what it might be.

Val frowned. “Yeah, I suppose that’s right,” he said, “but at the same time, that’s a mess of a journey to make.”

“If it’s all right,” Magnolia cut in, “Kiran wants to return there. But we could continue without him.”

“I really, really don’t blame him,” Val said, with a sigh. “We did kill him.”

“You killed him,” Alfo said.

“Fine. I also got him resurrected. The point is, he’s justified in going home.”

“Fair enough,” Magnolia said, with a shrug.

Manny opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted – even through the closed door, all of them could hear a heavy knock at the storefront. Manny turned and stared quizzically in that direction, through the door.

“Uh,” he said, and then shouted, “We’re closed!”

“Royal Guard,” a voice called back. “Open up.”

“Oh, brilliant,” Val muttered.

Manny stood and hurried out of the back room. The rest of the Guard followed.

An elven man stood outside the main door to the shop, wearing gleaming armor and a harried expression. A deep green cloak was pinned at one shoulder and hung behind him, almost to the ground; his hair, a pale, almost translucent white, hung down his back over the cloak.

Manny peered through the window on the door. “Yes?” he said, not opening it.

“Open up.”

“Who are you?”

The elven man sighed. “Captain Elesar Glynhorn, of the Gladrathi Royal Corps. If you refuse to open up and cooperate, I will be forced to arrest you.”

“Oh, let’s not get arrested again,” Val muttered, next to Tam.

“Alright, fine,” Manny said, and stepped back to open the door. He looked the captain up and down and said, “what do you need?”

“I was told I could find you here. Firstly: this is not your shop.”

“Yes it is,” Manny said, indignant. “It’s mine.”

“That’s… not how this works,” Elesar said, furrowing his brow.

“Yes it is.”

“I’m – no, it isn’t.”

“You know who would know?” Val murmured, a thoughtful expression drifting through his eyes. “Redrick.”

With that, he pulled out his sending stone and held it in one hand. “Redrick, please,” he said to it, and sauntered forward.

Elesar looked to him. “And you are?”

“Baron Valerian Redwyne, first of his name, at your service,” Val said, bowing. “If you don’t mind, I’m calling my lawyer to ask if Manny’s claim is valid.”

“Your –“ Elesar paused, then let out a frustrated sigh. “Fine. But make it swift; we have other business to attend to.”

Other business? Tam frowned, but said nothing.

Redrick’s voice echoed through the stone. “Valerian,” he said, respectfully, “how can I help?”

“Hi there,” Val said, sweetly. “Do you happen to know anything about land or business claims in Sindaleth?”

“Sindaleth?” Redrick paused. “I… do, yes, why?”

“Over to you, Manny,” Val said, and plunked his sending stone in Manny’s outstretched hand. “Give it back when you’re done.”

“This is Elesar Glynhorn of the Gladrathi Royal Corps,” Elesar said, to the stone.

“This is Sir Redrick Tramdus, of the order of Waukeen,” Redrick replied, evenly. “I would be delighted to discuss the matter with you in detail if you have the time for it.”

Val sauntered back, grinning. “He’ll handle it,” he whispered, to Tam.

Within minutes, Redrick had Elesar pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine,” Elesar growled, turning away from the sending stone. “Fine! I suppose you’re right. The shop is yours.”

“Thank you very much,” Manny said, and then, “Bye, Redrick! Thanks for your help.”

“Any time,” Redrick said, sounding rather pleased with himself. Manny turned and tossed the stone to Val, who wasn’t looking; somehow he turned quickly enough to snatch it out of the air before it thunked him solidly in the back of the head.

Elesar dropped his hands to his sides, defeated. “Take it. Enjoy it.”

“I will,” Manny said fervently.

“Good,” Elesar shot back, though he seemed unsure of why he did it. He paused for a moment, frowning, then straightened up. “Ahem. The shop isn’t the only reason I’ve stopped by tonight.”

“Oh?” Manny said.

Elesar fixed his eyes on Val. “I apologize for the late hour, but I need you to come with me.”

Val folded his arms. “Where, and why?”

“You, and the rest of your cadre of heroes, have been implicated in the disappearance of our king, Elidyr Ashebow.”

Val heaved in a massive breath and sighed. “For fuck’s sake,” he said, “did no one tell – did anyone mention what went on in the Shadowfell?”

“The what,” Elesar said, deadpan.

“Elidyr’s fine. He’s in the Feywild now, with his wife. Didn’t you wonder why the plague was gone?”

“You must know I find this hard to believe.”

Val raised his eyebrows. “If you’re – listen, your king is _fine._ If you want to be absolutely sure of that, he left the portal open so that he could return at will. You could wait for him to come back on your own time, or if you _need_ to know we can take you to the portal. We know exactly where it is; it’s not hard to find.”

Elesar narrowed his eyes. “You’re claiming our king is trapped in the Feywild.”

“Not trapped,” Val corrected, “just living there. He chose this. His wife lives there.”

“The king is not married.”

“That’s what you think.” Val shook his head. “We’ll show you.”

“I would very much like to see this,” Elesar muttered, and stepped back, indicating that the Guard was to exit.

Val whirled as they went out. “Magnolia,” he said, “would you mind watching the shop so that nobody else steals it? We don’t have the keys. The previous owner took them with him.”

“Sure,” Magnolia said, sounding relieved. “I wasn’t really looking forward to walking into the woods in the dark in search of a portal anyways.”

“Wonderful,” Val said, “thank you _so_ much. Let’s go.”

The walk was mostly silent. Tam felt tense, unsure of the situation; while Val seemed to be confident, Tam was not certain that Elesar was being entirely honest with them.

Or honest at all. He acted strangely for a royal guard, both too formal and not formal enough. Both too demanding, and not threatening. He was walking into the woods with a bunch of strangers and absolutely no one else; no other guards, none of the Corps except him, no one else at all. It was strange, and it wasn’t right.

Val clasped his hands behind his back as he walked alongside Elesar. “It’s to the north of the city,” he said, “past the markets. Out the north gate. Top gate. To the north, through the, ah, previously-named ‘Cursed Woods’ which, I assume, are cursed no more.”

Tam nearly missed it in half-listening to Val’s odd rambling; only the flicker of movement caught his eye. Val’s hands, snapping into distinct signs behind his back, where Elesar couldn’t see.

What did they mean? Tam glanced to Manny, but he didn’t seem to understand what was going on. _Alfo,_ however…

Alfo’s eyes narrowed a bit, and he flicked his gaze up, then over to Tam and Manny. Manny was still oblivious.

At that moment, they passed through the north gate into the forest, and there was a slight shift in the darkness around them.

<Alfo says Val doesn’t trust him,> came Shadow’s voice, echoing in Tam’s mind. <He’s saying that you should all disappear, as soon as you can. Fade away. This isn’t safe, what you’re doing, and there’s something wrong here.>

So Val _did_ sense it. Good. Tam looked to Manny again, who had heard this and was staring wide-eyed at Val’s cloak, billowing behind him.

<Be careful,> Shadow warned. <Back first. As quickly as you can once you begin to go.>

It was smooth. Tam was already fairly quiet when he moved through the woods; he fell behind a few paces, then moved sideways into the trees, taking care not to brush any bushes or branches as he departed. He saw Manny slip behind a large boulder, and then Alfo hung back while Val chattered distractingly. When he was gone, Val said, “oh, what’s that?” and turned around.

Elesar did as well, then took a few steps towards the empty pathway where the rest of the Guard had been. “What –“ he started, and turned to Val.

But Val was gone. In the few seconds between Elesar searching and him turning around, Val swept his cloak around him, slipped sideways into the foliage, and vanished in a heartbeat.

Elesar whirled again, then growled under his breath. “I knew you were traitors,” he snarled. “I knew you were betrayers.”

The Guard held their breath, utterly still. Tam felt Shadow’s presence nearby, approaching slowly through the trees; she was invisible and silent, ethereal, but her looming energy hovered like a dark blot in his mind. She wasn’t headed for the clearing, though – she was headed away from it. She was looking for something else. Tam didn’t have time to figure out what.

Elesar drew his blade, cloak whirling behind him as he spun. “You’ll suffer for this,” he snapped. “Royal guard! Attack!”


	34. The (theo)logical Conclusion

The forest burst into action. Tam held his breath as he saw several armed warriors melt out of the foliage around the edges of the path and the clearing, weapons ready. For a moment, he’d thought perhaps they hadn’t seen him, but a rustle at his back told him that wasn’t true.

He turned in time to block a downward strike from a slender elven blade. It caught on his staff and skidded, narrowly missing his fingers. He stumbled backwards into the cleared area, tripping on the back hem of his robes.

“There’s one of you,” Elesar snarled, and went forwards.

“Watch out!” Manny shouted; he had been badly hidden behind a tree that was too small, and was leaning out from behind it. He launched a firebolt off and it caught the blade that Elesar held, knocking it aside; he was thrown off balance and didn’t follow through on his attack on Tam.

As he did so someone came at him and he caught a blade in the shoulder with a shout. _He’d just gotten that healed,_ Tam thought. _What a shame._

And then it was him and Manny, in the center of the clearing, with Elesar facing them and a contingent of guards completely surrounding them.

Where were the others? The rest of the Guard?

A man in green robes raised his hand and gathered a sphere of light in it. As he opened his mouth to speak, there was a low hum and a faint pop, and the spell fizzled out in faint teal sparks.

The elf looked baffled and glanced to his side; Val materialized out of the shadows and was suddenly there, one hand outstretched. “I don’t thiiiiink so,” he said, smiling, the tail end of the magic wrapped around his hand.

“There you are,” Elesar said, grinning.

Val sighed. “Jig’s up!” he said, and whipped out the two rapiers. They gleamed in the darkness, and Tam frantically gathered whatever was nearby to him – ravens in the trees, mostly, wakened from their slumber, stirred and flew out towards him, clouding the clearing with whirling black feathers. Here was Val, yes, but where were Alfo and Shadow?  _Where were they?_

It felt like an eternity and at the same time like just a few moments. The ranks closed in, and Tam held his staff at the ready, nervously looking around.

“You’re outnumbered,” Elesar said. “You could surrender, now, to us.”

“I’m really not keen on the prospect,” Val called, “because I don’t particularly like the idea of being arrested by someone who isn’t even the real guard captain.”

“How _dare_ you,” Elesar snarled, but there was a split second of hesitation – just enough to confirm Tam’s suspicions. This was not the actual captain of the guard. This was an imposter.

“I dare to do quite a lot of things,” Val sighed. “You’d know that if you had literally _any_ idea who I am.”

“A traitor and a criminal,” Elesar spat.

“Criminal, yes. Traitor, probably not.” Val frowned. "Though I'd have to check with my lawyer."

"Not  _again,_ " Elesar hissed, then shook his head. "I don't have time for this! I have  _duties_ to attend to - things for the Guard -"

Val whirled Windsinger in one hand, stretching his wrist. “Honestly, you don’t need to stick to the fake guard thing anymore, really. We’ve figured it out.” He was stalling. Why? What for? 

Elesar sighed. “If you're so set on being a thorn in my side, I don't suppose you'd care to make things slightly easier and tell me just exactly what it is that you intend to do?"

"In this situation, or...?"

"Yes,  _in this situation,"_ Elesar said, lowering his gaze. "I don't particularly care to hear about your  _life goals."_

“Oh. Well, in that case... fight our way out, I suppose.” Val rolled his eyes. "Not like we haven't done this oh so many times before."

The whirl of raven wings hid the intricacies of Elesar’s expression, but his derision at least was evident. “You and what army?”

Val paused, glancing up. Tam looked as well and saw what he was looking at.

“Don’t need an army,” Val said, and hurled himself to the side, disappearing into the undergrowth, as the treeline behind Elesar exploded.

Out of it barreled a shape, twice the size of a dire bear, with massive black claw-like hooks emerging from its forearms and a beak with whiskers around it that melted into fur, a deep navy blue, on its face and body. The eyes were black and it had two tufted ears that flicked back and forth, and on its back was a huge black beetle-shell that could not open into wings. It screamed, a high-pitched screech punctuated with clicks and croaks.

The creature took up so much of Tam’s attention that he nearly missed Alfo in front of it, leading it into the clearing. He charged through the bushes and spun to face the monster – but slipped backwards, letting it charge into the center of the clearing. Manny and Tam leaped away from it.

From there it was utter chaos. The creature wasn’t something natural; that Tam could tell. It was a monster. And that meant it was something Alfo was used to hunting. He bore his trident, gleaming in the darkness, eyes blazing.

“Death to the beast!” Elesar roared, spinning his blade in one hand.

He and the elves went at the monster. It viciously whipped its hooks around, slicing through the elves that it caught with them; the Guard retreated to the edges of the clearing and watched the carnage.

Shadow appeared at the edges too, leaping into the fray. She was immediately a target; the elves went after her, screaming, and as Tam directed his ravens and did his best to fend off blows he saw her get slashed too much and dropped into the ground. Val was there in an instant, some how feeding a healing potion to the giant wolf; Tam saw him empty the vial and toss it into the grass as Shadow shook herself awake.

The Tam stopped hearing the battle partway through because something else caught his ears; the sound of something approaching them. Many somethings.

Val heard it too. “Don't need an army, but it seems we've got one anyway,” he said, cocking his head to the side. He darted out of the battle and vanished from Tam’s sight; moments later, Tam spotted him again, this time departing from the battle _riding on Shadow’s back._ His cloak billowed behind him and vanished.

In the minute before they returned, the horrible creature had quite literally bitten Elesar in half. It was still alive, though most of the elves weren’t; Val leaped off Shadow’s back and landed running on the ground.

“Army’s coming,” he panted, as Shadow skidded to a halt, crouched, and howled backwards, warping the air around her. The sound hurt Tam’s ears; to the elf in front of her, it did much worse.

But for once, something caught in Shadow’s draining howl _didn’t_ die. The elf stumbled and fell to one knee, skin briefly going grayish and clammy and unnaturally blotchy, but he plunged his sword into the ground, leaned on it, and gasped for breath - still alive.

The sound of marching feet became louder. The creature stormed forwards and swiped Alfo off his feet. He jabbed forwards with the trident and the snapping beak knocked it out of his hands; as a last resort he pulled out the old axe he’d gotten from the crypt before they’d even gotten the Eye. He sank the blade into the beast’s neck and it shrieked again and stumbled backwards, dropping him, and collapsed onto its shelled back.

And then it was silent. The remaining elves stayed where they were, mostly laying on the ground; Elesar had been bitten in half and was extremely dead.

“Well, this is bad,” Val said, and he strode forward and slipped his blade underneath the elven soldier’s chin, tipping his head up. “Who told you to be here?”

“Captain,” the elf gasped, shivering. “Captain Reloks. Connel. Reloks.”

“Oh,” Val said. “Not Elesar?”

“Who?”

“Bad,” Val said, and, removing his sword blade and sheathing the weapon, knelt. “Here – here. You’ve been misled.” He laid one hand on the elf’s shoulder, muttering. “What’s your name?” he said, as he worked.

“Guntram,” the elf wheezed, and suddenly breathed in a little easier. “Oh, that’s… much better.”

“Right. Sorry you had to get mixed up in all this.” A faint light glimmered around Val’s fingers. “This is going to be a bit of a mess, but I’m sure it’ll be alright in the end.”

“I hope so,” Guntram said, raising one hand to press it against his forehead. He was shaking. “I – what _was_ that? Earlier, when…”

“Nothing to be that worried about,” Val soothed. “It won’t happen to you again.”

“Yeah.” Guntram swallowed, chest heaving. “Yeah. Alright.”

_Remarkable._

The tramping of the army grew louder through the trees. Val glanced in its direction. “I don’t like the sound of that,” he muttered, narrowing his eyes. “We are at the very least going to explain why we killed some of the actual guard members and not just the imposter.”

“Self-defense,” Alfo said.

“You know, I don’t know if that’s going to work as an excuse. We did disappear from sight and possibly provoke –“

“He was an imposter!” Manny said, folding his arms. “What can we really be expected to do?”

Val shrugged and said nothing.

The army approached. Tam could see them now, marching through the undergrowth, swatting it aside with sticks and blades. He frowned. They were nowhere near as agile as the Royal Core elves, and bore less respect for the forest, it seemed.

“Hello!” Val called, standing as they got nearer. Tam glanced around and noted that Shadow had disappeared again, vanishing into thin air. She’d probably gone invisible and ethereal.

“Name and business!” called one of the elves of the army.

“Baron Valerian Redwyne, of the Night Guard,” Val said, bowing as the captain stepped into the clearing. “Sorry about this mess.”

The captain glanced around. “What happened,” he said, flatly.

“An imposter calling himself Elesar Glynhorn lured us and a bunch of the previous Royal Core into the woods and then attacked and tried to murder us, tricking the Core into helping him. We defended ourselves.” Val paused, glancing back at the corpse of the aberration. “Also, that showed up. It’s dead too.”

“…interesting,” Captain Reloks said, flatly. “I have no reason to believe your intentions are anything but harmful. Guard, restrain them.”

“Oh – come on! Not _again!”_ Val shouted, as Captain Reloks turned his back. “ _We were being compliant!”_

It did not help them. The elves confiscated their weapons (and even Tam and Alfo’s shields) in moments and – to Tam’s fury – handcuffed them. In _metal._

“I’m a druid of the Circles,” he said, staring at the cuffs as the elves presented them to him.

“Okay,” said one of them. “That’s all very well and good. Hands, please.”

“They’re metal,” Tam said.

“Hands. _Now.”_

The iron burned against his skin, and chafed against his soul. How could they – all elves of Sindaleth _knew_ the druids, and knew that they didn’t tolerate metal. Why the disrespect? Why the blatant lack of care? Even druids who had broken the law were bound with rope or leather, not metal.

_Something is wrong with these elves._

Could it be… _more_ imposters?

Tam glanced around as he was led towards what looked to be a camp, well-pitched even though they had to have created it in just a few minutes. When he looked behind, he saw that Manny had been chained as well – but with his hands behind him, not in front, and the cuffs looked heavier. There were two guards on him instead of the one each that Tam and Val had. Had he done something?

Manny looked bewildered. It didn’t _seem_ like he’d done anything.

Val was shoved down at the edge of the camp, but the guard holding Tam’s chain pulled him along and into one of the larger tents. Inside was Captain Reloks, in a chair, one leg crossed over the other. “Alright,” he said, holding a book in one hand and a pencil in the other. “Tell me your story.”

 _Perhaps if I tell him as much as possible, he’ll get confused, and let us go,_ Tam thought, and with that launched into a slightly out of order and slightly doctored rendition of the Night Guard’s story from the time they entered the Feral Bosk until now.

He remembered everything perfectly, but he didn’t have to let Captain Reloks know that. He _tried_ to be confusing.

It didn’t seem to work. When he finished describing the battle, the Captain wrote a few paragraphs in the book he was holding, then gestured without looking up. “Bring the next one in,” he said, monotone. “His story will also be analysed.”

They took Val next, and put Tam where he had been. Manny was present, but in an iron cage.

“What happened?” Tam asked him, quietly.

“I don’t know!” Manny _still_ looked baffled, and rather glum. “I didn’t do anything. But they want to know about my magic, and they said they wanted to do special questioning with me later.”

_These can’t be ordinary Gladrathi elves. They can’t be. Not with this behavior._

“Where’s Alfo?” Tam asked.

“I don’t know,” Manny muttered. “They took him off to another tent. I don’t know what for or why. That was a while ago, while you were talking to, uh, to that captain man. Elf. Guy.”

Alfo had been separated from the group as well. Tam felt slightly sick, though that could have been the iron on his skin. _What are they doing?_

The camp was busy, but silent; all noise was from people moving about, carrying out tasks. They weren’t speaking to each other.

A guard brought Val out again, forcing him down onto the ground next to Tam. After a moment Captain Reloks exited the tent as well – but he strode off in a different direction, into the camp, disappearing from view.

“Hey,” Val called. “Just going to leave us here, are you?”

No response. He sighed, lowering his head.

“What happened,” Tam asked, deadpan.

“Oh, nothing,” Val muttered. “Just failed to do anything useful at all. He wouldn’t listen to a single thing I had to say; it’s like nothing I said was important, or like he didn’t care for it. I was trying to get him to let us go based on status, but he apparently just doesn’t care who we are or what the King named anybody.” He glowered at the ground. “What did you get across to him?”

“Nothing,” Tam said, “and everything.”

“What?”

“I told him the story.”

“Of everything we’ve done? No wonder it took you so long. Manny, what are you doing in there?”

“The elves just put me in here,” Manny said miserably. “I can’t get out!”

“Tam, can you use your magic to escape? You know, turn yourself into a big pile of rats and run off?”

He _could,_ but something told him doing so would be a bad idea. “I shouldn’t.”

“Why not? Then you could help us get out of here!”

“It would cause attention. Trouble.”

Val pressed his fingertips into the wet grass, frowning at it. “Fine.”

<Hey,> whispered a voice inside Tam’s mind. <They haven’t found me yet. Are you alive?>

Shadow’s voice. That at least was a positive note.

<I’m watching the ones elsewhere. They’re acting very strangely, and they have been this whole time. I thought you might want to know about it.>

Tam and Manny exchanged a glance. Strangely _how?_

<They’re cutting down trees in the forest, first off, which is not something elves normally do,> Shadow murmured to them. <Also, that one that survived me? They’ve killed him, and the others from the battle.>

“But - !” Val let out an affronted noise. “ _Why?!”_

<I don’t know. Maybe he was too weak.>

“That’s not how humans operate, Shadow,” Val muttered, trying to keep his voice down. The guards nearby weren’t paying attention – they didn’t seem inclined to keep the Guard from talking amongst themselves – but they did look up if any member got too loud. “Or elves. Mortals. Whatever. We fucking saved him, and they _killed him??_ Are they insane?”

<They’re not right,> Shadow muttered. <They’re wrong. They’re something else. I’m trying to listen to Alfo but I can’t get anything from him.>

Also bad. But there was nothing they could do about it.

Val tried and failed to slip his manacles; he only succeeded in chafing his wrists pretty badly. Tam sat and seethed and tried to figure out what was happening, but couldn’t piece together what could drive elves to act like this.

After a time, Captain Reloks came striding back through the tents, looking more bored than anything. “Break camp,” he ordered. “And let these ones go. They’ve done no wrong, and we’ll treat them as such.”

<They’re putting all the bodies into a pit,> Shadow observed. <And using magic to put soil over it.>

A mass grave. Unmarked, unknown.

The elves freed the Guard and gave them back their weapons. “Alfo? What happened? How’d you manage that one?” Val asked, rubbing his wrists, after he’d been released.

“I just told the story,” Alfo said, with a shrug. “I don’t know.”

_He’s lying._

It seemed that, even if Alfo did know more, he wasn’t inclined to tell anyone about it.

And that was that. The camp around them was disassembled with startling speed; the elves were extraordinarily swift and efficient. But it still seemed so _wrong._ Everything seemed _wrong._

That left the Guard, alone, in the woods far from Sindaleth. It was the middle of the night and they had no idea what had just happened. All of them were exhausted and confused, and nobody said anything as they returned to Sindaleth, silently. Nobody stopped them; no gate-guards or anything. They were allowed to pass unhindered.

When they reached Lead to Gold again and entered the store, Alfo was the last one in; he closed the door and locked it, then cleared his throat.

“You going to tell us what you learned?” Val asked, almost sarcastically.

“I couldn’t say anything there,” Alfo said. “I’m not supposed to, they said. I couldn’t around them. Those were dwarves. Hidden, with magic. Illusions.”

…now it made sense. The disrespect for the woods, the lack of care for a druid, the metal, the swiftness, the brutality of their treatment of the elven survivors, the disrespect to the dead - and the ones who didn't need to be dead, but were now. “Ah,” Tam said.

Val looked stunned. “How?” he asked, baffled.

“They were sent by the Church of Ulaa. To find me.” He looked troubled. “They said – I’d committed sins, and my father sent them for me. Everything’s fine now. They won’t come after me again. We won’t be blamed for the mess out there. Not our fault. I doubt anybody will even find it.”

_Not our fault._

Tam was rather haunted by this; it didn’t leave his mind for many days. Dwarves, that Alfo knew, tracking him down? And for what? Crimes of the past?

Crimes that he, by his own admission, had never even committed?

In this other world, this other timeline – _what had he done?_


	35. Springtime in Mythweald

After that, Alfo was quieter. Not enough that it caused a rift in the party, or that anyone felt strange about it, but noticeably so.

They had a week in Sindaleth for recuperation, which Tam wanted – after what the Royal Core had done (or, rather, the dwarves; Tam had yet to see an actual Royal Core member, and was beginning to believe they didn’t exist) he was slightly put off by the guard here. The city itself was still mostly safe, but he felt like something had been disrupted, and was out of balance.

The Tree had no more words for him on the subject. He spent most of his time in the library, though in a stroke of bravery he decided at one point to attempt to gather information from a tavern, in the guise of a simple animal – a cat, deep brown with golden spots.

It did not go well.

Tam refused to relay the story to anyone the next day, and refused to give an explanation for where he had been or why he was so late back. How could he _possibly_ explain that the stray animal laws of Sindaleth had gotten him tranquilized and detained in the city’s pound? He had _no_ desire to be the laughingstock of the group for however long Val decided to play the joke for; he lied, when questioned, and said he’d been meditating. That seemed to satisfy Val, who believed it.

Manny spent a great deal of time in a back room of Lead to Gold. When he finally emerged, it became clear why; he’d created a teleportation circle to Tila.

“Oh, brilliant,” Val said, eyes lighting up when he saw it. “Easy! That’s fantastic, thank you.”

Most of the time, Val was reading; a book he’d gotten out of a black market. “What’s that?” Tam asked him, when he was readying to depart on a hunting journey with Alfo for some monster or another.

“Book,” Val mumbled, eyes on it.

Tam waited patiently.

“It’s about – hmm. It’s about movement. And motion. Also, it’s magic, and it will make me able to… eh, dodge stuff, run, you know. That sort of thing.”

“Ah.” Tam paused. “Where did you get it?”

“Black market.” Val glanced up, smirking. “That was fun.”

“Fun?”

“Had to haggle the price down, ‘cause I didn’t have enough money for it.” Val grinned. “Told the fellow I’d seen one before, very casual and all. Put a damper on _his_ party.”

Perhaps it would be unethical to scam a shopkeep, but this was the black market. “You’ve seen one before?”

“Oh, no, never before today,” Val said airily, fiddling with the corner of one page, smirking at the memory. “But he didn’t know that. Told him a noble I knew in Pabshaw had one. Turns out he’s _from_ Pabshaw, and asked me what noble.”

“And?”

“I told them it was a fellow by the name of Valerian Redwyne,” Val said, grinning. “He didn’t recognize me; how was he to know? Dropped the price on this clearly not unique item just because of that.”

Even Tam had to smile at that. He dipped his head – imagine being scammed by someone who name-dropped _themself._

It was a good time, a relaxing time, a time for them to recover from the Feral Bosk and the arguably _more_ stressful incident that had followed it. But after a week or so there was nothing else they could find to do in Sindaleth; they had to move on.

Tam remembered his visions, and the Tree’s knowledge. Osden. They had to go to Osden. Home of warriors, frigid and well-protected isle.

“Oh, Osden!” Manny said, delightedly, when Tam posited the idea to the group. “I’m from there!”

“You’re _what?”_ Val said, staring in disbelief.

“From Osden,” Manny said, placid as ever. “My parents live there.”

Val pivoted his head and gave Tam a _long_ stare.

 _As if I would know that?_ Tam wondered.

“Getting some really mixed signals here, Manny,” Val said. “If you’re from Osden, why is your sister the empress of Nubixis?”

“Oh – I guess I could be from Nubixis, but I don’t remember anything like that,” Manny said, with a shrug. “I only remember Osden.”

“…alright.”

They made their preparations, and, as spring was beginning to touch the other flowers in the Ei’dath Woods, departed Sindaleth for Osden.

It was a peaceful journey – far less stressful than Tam expected. The season was changing; from the wildflowers blooming in the forests and fields to the multitudes of animals that were making their way out of hibernation or back north from their southern homes. Tam was particularly taken by a panorama of a scenic rocky hill, with three goats perched atop it, two adults and one youngling.

“Look at them,” Tam mused, in Sylvan. “Pleased with their domain as any could be.”

Val looked towards them. He frowned, concentrating, and finally said in Sylvan, “Goats.”

“Yes,” Tam said, nodding. “Very good.”

They met a few other travelers on the road, with merry greetings for them. Partway through the afternoon one day they did find what appeared to be an abandoned shrine with a locked chest.

“Not locked for long,” Val said, and picked it easily. Inside there were a set of gauntlets, armored; Val picked them up, turned them over, and held them out to the group.

“They’re magical, not harmful,” he said, with a shrug. “Whoever could use a bit of strength…?”

“I’m fine,” Alfo said, holding up one hand.

Tam shook his head as well – they were metal. Manny didn’t even bother responding.

Val glanced down at them, then up again. “Well – Magnolia?”

“Me?” she stepped forward, carefully, and took them, slipping them on. They seemed to fit her perfectly; she flexed her fingers, and her eyes widened, lighting up first with surprise and then with what could only be described as glee. “Ohh,” she said, softly tracing the designs of the thick leather and metal plating with one finger. “Oh, these are _good._ ”

They continued, Magnolia occasionally demonstrating her new-found strength with a punch at a tree stump, or a push of a boulder. Her antics delighted Val, who spent a great deal of time pointing to random objects that she happily moved.

Towards the evening later on their journey, as they were nearing the Kilik Mountains, they encountered one more traveler, and not an ordinary one.

Tam caught it first – the faint sound of lute music on the wind. Val picked it up immediately afterwards, perking up.

“That’s music,” he said. “Someone’s playing music!”

It was already evening, and they’d been searching for a place to camp – it was obvious Val thought perhaps whoever was playing music would be willing to share their site. He hurried forwards to the top of the hill and whooped when he reached it.

“Hoi!” he called, and Tam winced.

“Hello!” called back a friendly, accented voice. Tam recognized the accent, too, and blinked – that was a Sylvan twist to the words.

“It’s getting late. Do you mind if we stop in and camp here for the night as well?”

“Not at all,” the stranger replied, and Val trotted down the hill. Tam reached the top and looked down, towards the edge of the road and the edge of the forest. Nestled in a small indent in the treeline was a campfire and someone seated happily on a stump. At first glance, his legs appeared to be broken, but as Tam looked he realized that this person was not a human or an elf, but someone who looked rather like a human but with the lower legs of a goat.

A satyr. A fey. What was one doing out here, in the Material Plane?

“Thanks,” Val said, grinning at the stranger. “I’m Valerian Redwyne of the Night Guard; and who might you be?”

“You can call me Tion,” the satyr said, standing and bowing. His free hand held a lute, which he swept back and nearly cracked into the log he’d been seated on.

“Well met!” Val either didn’t notice the satyr’s otherworldly appearance or didn’t care, but give his flair for the dramatic, Tam was willing to bet the former was the case.

“And to you!” Tion seated himself again and gestured towards the entirety of the campsite, most of which was empty save for him, the campfire, and a shoddy canvas tent haphazardly thrown together behind him. He hefted the lute, using it to gesture when he spoke. “Make yourself at home. I have stew cooking, and I wouldn’t mind an audience for my practice!”

Val turned towards the rest of the Guard. “Looks like we’ve got a safe place for the night,” he said, with a broad smile. The Night Guard began to unload their bags, setting things down and setting up tents. Shadow had, as always, vanished.

Tam eyed Tion carefully. Tion smiled peacefully at him, dark curled hair hiding a set of nubby goat horns.

“You’re far from home,” Tam said, softly, in Sylvan.

“Sure am,” Tion replied. “It happens!”

“Any reason?”

“I just like visiting.”

“What are you saying, now?” Val said, popping up next to Tam. “That’s Sylvan!”

“Sure is,” Tion said, raising an eyebrow.

“Do you know Sylvan? I’ve been trying to have Tam teach me but he’s not a very kind instructor.” Val wrinkled his nose.

Tion’s gaze flicked over to Tam, amused. “I do know it,” he said. “It’s my first language.”

Val considered that for a moment. “Wait a minute,” he said, “I thought elves spoke elvish.”

“Not an elf,” Tam said, bored.

“What?”

“I’m a satyr! Sorry,” Tion laughed, “I forgot some of you can’t see that right off the bat!”

Val stared at him for a moment, and then his eyes got wide. “Oh! _Oh!_ ” he said, and grinned again. “Fantastic! This is the coolest. This is the best trip ever.”

Tion’s very presence seemed to be disarming, rendering the Guard cheerful and chatty. Even Alfo’s normally stoic personality was laid at ease; he was pulling out one of his alcoholic concoctions, setting it down by the fire (but not too close).

Tam wandered around the edge of the woods, delving into the deeper areas a few times but returning to the campsite. For once, the chatter and sound didn’t bother him; it seemed musical, and it was a kind of music that was soft and gentle to hear. He plucked a bundle of herbs that he knew would go well with the rabbit Tion had cleaned for the stew pot and brought them to him.

“Here,” he said, handing them over.

“Oh! Well, thank you so very much,” Tion said, accepting the plants. “That saves me the trouble of having to wander and find them! You are just a wonderful group of people, aren’t you?”

The rest of the evening Tam spend listening, sitting, and sketching in the art book. Despite his best attempts, he failed to capture Tion’s likeness properly; something about it never looked right, and he burned several pages of the book in the fire before giving up and putting it away, choosing to sit and listen to the night sounds and the music instead.

Val spent a good while teaching Tion a few songs from Pabshaw; he was vaguely familiar with most, but one or two of them were new to him. “Oh, lovely,” he said, as Val taught him the chord sequences. He seemed to be faltering with them occasionally, but a helpful comment from Val or a kind word of encouragement had him picking out the right notes in moments.

“You lot certainly are a fun bunch,” Tion said, conversationally, with a smile, as the fire burned low in the evening. He strummed a few chords on his harp and glanced to Val. “Here – this, now this one is a song you’ll really like to know.”

“Sure, yeah, I’m listening,” Val said.

With that, Tion began to pluck a rambling series of notes and murmur a low string of words in Sylvan. Tam blinked in surprise when he heard it – it was a name, a full name, the kind you’d use to bind someone’s power.

“Remember that,” Tion said, softly.

Val played the tune back perfectly, humming, and then repeated it with the words. Tion nodded as he went along, smiling.

“What’s it mean?”

“That’s my name,” Tion said. “Should you ever have need, call upon Tion.”

“Oh,” Val said, eyes going wide. “I’ll – I’ll keep that in mind.”

By the time they woke in the morning, Tion was gone, not a trace of his presence left.

They continued northwards, into the shadow of Adern’s Peaks. They spent the better part of a full day traveling headed up the rocky passes, and were rewarded with an impressive view of the land below when they finally made it through – the rocky highlands and moorland mixed with pine forest stretching all the way to the shores of the fjord below. Out in the center of the fjord, surrounded by glittering waters, was the island of Osden.

“Alright,” Alfo said, pausing. “Before we go to Osden, we need to kill some orcs.”

“What?” Val said, utterly baffled. “Where – why?”

“Keth knows someone who will give me a sword,” Alfo said, peering down into the gaps between the mountain foothills. “A powerful sword. Much better than any sword I have now.”

“You have _so many weapons,_ ” Val sighed. “But, like, if we have to kill a band of roving orcs, then that’s fine I suppose. We’ve dealt with orcs before. True, it didn’t go perfectly, but we’re stronger now. I’m sure we could take on some boars and warriors.”

Alfo’s face remained impassive, but Tam sensed something else. “What is it that you hide?” he said, quietly.

He didn’t answer – but Tam watched his eyes. He was scanning the foothills, and when he caught sight of something and stared at it, Tam followed his gaze.

It was morning, the sun rising over the inlet, and in its rays Tam could see – tucked into the foothills – buildings. This was not a roving band of orcs; it was more permanent than that.

“What’s over there?” Val said, squinting. “Oh, is that smoke? Oh, lovely, they’ve got a _camp._ They’ll be _defended._ ”

They descended into the foothills and headed towards the camp. It was still pretty early, so they made good time and got there well before noon.

As they got closer, Tam got more and more uncomfortable. They were moving stealthily, silently, and it was through the forest, which was fine – until they broke out into a cleared area with a field of crops just starting to sprout.

“Hello?” Val said, staring down at them. “That’s odd.”

There was a path by it – a path that led into what looked not to be a war camp, but instead an actual village. The buildings were small, quaint, and as Tam watched he saw what looked to be an elderly orc trundle across the way to sit in the sunshine and, it seemed, weave a basket.

“…this is a village,” Val muttered, quietly. “These are people who just live here.”

Alfo nodded slowly.

“You’re supposed to kill them? All of them?”

“Yes.”

Val glanced back to the village. “Maybe they’re hiding something,” he murmured. “We should at least wait, I think, and watch them. See what they’re up to, really.”

And so they did. They spent the _entire_ day watching the village – adults came and tended to the crops, weeding the beds and thinning some of them, carting the pulled plants away to a heap of rotting vegetation that looked to be mixed with food scraps. Elderly orcs chattered amongst themselves; there were a few of them, and they kept each other’s company. Most worrying of all, Tam caught sight of children, running between the huts playing some sort of game.

_Alfo is supposed to kill them all. Even the children. And for what? A blade? A weapon, to do even more harm? His fate is to reap death, but even so..._

By the late afternoon, Alfo was getting impatient. “I don’t understand what we’re waiting for,” he muttered, as the Guard – now positioned behind a rock outcropping overlooking the village, where they could see but not be seen – watched the orcs’ every move. “Let me go down. I’ll make it quick.”

“I think we should wait, actually,” Val said, nervously. “I don’t – I don’t see evidence of them doing any evil.”

“All orcs are evil,” Alfo grunted, not taking his eyes off the figures below. “Everyone knows that.”

“They aren’t _doing_ anything. Aside from farming,” Val argued. “I don’t… see why they should be killed. They’re just living their lives.”

“They’re _evil._ ”

“Says who?!”

“Everyone. Everything. Everybody knows that orcs are evil.”

Val let out a huff of breath. “Alright, fine, if you want to be stubborn about it. Fine. Fine! But can we take care of Osden _first?_ It’s not like you’ll manage this and end up back in Sindaleth before we have business here. It doesn’t matter if you handle your little task before or after we handle whatever it is we’re going to be thrust into this time. Some Shadowfell nonsense, no doubt.”

He seemed genuinely distressed, but more bothered by the potential waste of time than anything – or so it would seem, though Tam knew his cousin. He was bothered by this orc village matter. He was on edge.

“But…” Alfo paused, looking down at the village.

“They live here,” Val said, shortly. “It’s not as if they’re _going_ anywhere.”

“Alright, fine,” Alfo said, and that was that. They retreated, leaving the village undisturbed.

It was too late to cross the open water tonight; they set up camp and stayed the night near the edge of the sea.

During Val’s watch, Tam was woken. “Shh,” Val said – the rest of the party members were asleep still. “Tam, with me, please.”

Val crept away from the campsite; they weren’t underneath his dome. Once they were a safe distance away – far enough that their conversations couldn’t be overheard – Val turned, took a deep breath, and said, “we need to warn them.”

Tam didn’t have to ask who. “How?”

“I don’t know – I was hoping you would. Secretly, somehow. Can we send them a pigeon or something? I – I figured I’d ask you, since you also seemed like you, ah, didn’t approve of Alfo’s plan.” Val glanced nervously in the direction of the distant village. “I really, _really_ don’t know what he’s doing or why we would _ever_ just massacre a village full of innocent people just living their lives.” He paused. “With kids! He’s supposed to kill the _kids!”_

Tam nodded. “A message,” he murmured. “I can send a creature that will speak to them.”

“You can? Oh, brilliant! That’s what we need.”

Tam called down to him – not a raven, but a sea-hawk, one of the ones that nested around the edges of the fjord in the summertime. This one he woke from her slumber; she seemed a little annoyed, but more tired than anything as she fluttered onto his outstretched arm, talons nearly sinking through the cloth he’d wrapped around it to avoid harm.

“It can only be a short message,” Tam warned.

“Right.” Val paced. “How about… ‘You are all in danger. Leave now for the safety of your entire village, and wait at least two months before returning. Please heed this warning.’”

“Too long.”

Val nodded. “Uhh… ‘You are in danger. Leave the village; return in two months’ time. Listen to this warning; protect yourselves.’”

That would do. Tam focused his magic on the sea-hawk, casting a spell over her; come the morning, she would fly to the village and deliver his message in words that emanated from the air around her, and she would deliver it directly to the head of the villagers.

He draped the magic over the sea-hawk’s white and gray feathers like a shroud, a nearly physical weave of deep green color that settled over the hawk, then sank into her and vanished. She yawned.

“Go,” Tam said, “and at sunrise, take this to the village. Not on the island – the village here.” He showed the sea-hawk in his mind where the village was, and got the sense that she would do as told. With that he tossed her into the air and she flapped away in the darkness.

“That’s done,” Val said, watching her go. “Let’s go back to sleep, then, and pretend nothing ever happened.” He paused, looking off towards the village again; his gaze was distant, and he closed one hand and rubbed the fingers together. He took a breath, paused, and finally said, “I do hope they listen. I’d not like for them to be–“

He stopped himself short, let out a breath, and shook his head before turning and making his way back to the camp.

In the morning, neither Val nor Tam brought up that they’d sent a message to the orcs; ideally, Alfo would never find out. The dwarf himself seemed in a foul mood, glowering occasionally off in the direction of the village.

Val had told the orcs not to come back for two months. That’d be long enough for sure for the Guard to conclude their business and depart back for Tila again, Tam hoped.

_Senseless death is not the way of nature; it is the way of entropy, and the unnatural. Death without cause or conclusion is wrong._

Entropy. That word again. Tam remembered it being mentioned only one time before – back in the Underdark, when the drow were working entropic magic on their mother, and on the undead dragon. What did it mean, that it was cropping up in his mind now?

He couldn’t possibly know.

There was a ferry service that ran from the edge of the fjord to the island. The Guard made their way there and boarded, Val paying for their passage once they’d all stepped on board. The ferry-master was a human woman, tall and powerfully built; she seemed to have some way with magic, because the ferry moved much smoother than Tam expected it to, and was far easier to control than most boats. It stayed steady in the swell of the waves.

Osden was a gorgeous island, rocks and evergreens rising from the water into a proud tumble of stones and soil that lorded over the entirety of the fjord. The mountains surrounding it were taller, but Osden held a sense of pride and power that the land itself did not mimic.

_An island in a cold, choppy sea, pine trees and rough rocks. Mountains in the background, enclosing this place._

Tam preferred the mountains.

Manny stood by the railing, both hands on it, looking forward into the wind. He seemed almost excited. “What’s got you on edge?” Val said, misreading Manny’s emotions.

“I’m just really excited to be back,” Manny said, not taking his eyes off the island. “That’s my home! I might have friends there! I really want to see them again.” He paused, expression falling. “Uh, there might also be people who want to kill me there.”

“What else is new,” Val intoned, fiddling with what looked like a partially embroidered cloth handkerchief. He was seated on a bench, his back to the sea.

“Might want to disguise yourself, then,” Alfo said. “Take off the fancy jewelry.”

“What? Oh, no, no, no. I’m not – I’m not wearing commoner clothing.”

Tam tuned out of the discussion, staring across the fjord waters to the distant shore. He wondered if the sea-hawk had made her flight yet, and if the orcs had listened to the message he’d sent with her. He wondered if they’d do as they were told. He wondered if they were evil or innocent.

“I’m gonna ask Oghma about it,” Manny said, after a bit. “If he says no, then we’re fine! And I don’t have to wear dirty _burlap_ or whatever that is. Hey, Oghma, is someone in Osden trying to kill me?”

He paused, head cocked to the side, then sighed shoulders slumping. “Yeah, someone is,” he said, glum. “I should’ve known that would be the answer.”

“Ask him about the orcs,” Alfo said, unexpectedly.

Manny raised an eyebrow. “What – like, what specifically?”

Alfo paused, thinking. Val cut in, still focused on the handkerchief. “How about ‘are orcs evil,’” he said. “Then we can stop debating it.”

“Okay, Oghma, you heard him,” Manny said, with a shrug. “Are orcs evil?”

A pause, and then Manny glanced over to Val, looking a little bit concerned. “He says yes.”

Val sighed and shook his head, eyes on his task. He said nothing.

“That’s that, then,” Alfo said. “When we get off the island I’m going to the village. You can’t stop me.”

Tam _fervently_ hoped that the orcs took his message seriously. Val did not respond to Alfo’s comment, but he radiated an air of discontent. Alfo ignored this, settling grumpily on the bench on the other side of the Ferry.

It was far too much, Tam knew, to hope that Alfo would get distracted and forget about the villages. He had a sharp memory, and a laser focus on things he wanted – he wouldn’t give up until he had that sword. But if it was between traveling with the party and hunting down orcs, what would he choose? Would he choose to stay with his friends, with the Guard, with other Heroes?

Or would he forsake them and go with Shadow on a quest for slaughter? Would he _leave_ the Guard in order to complete his quest? To ponder this was not comforting – and Tam didn’t like the fact that he had to ask this question to himself, and that, should the question be asked in sincerity, he might not get the answer he preferred.


	36. Osden

The ferry ride was a few hours long, and it drew up in Osden’s waters just before noon, at the smaller of the two docks it had; the larger was for sea-ships. There were a few other boats tied up, all empty for the moment. “There ya go,” the ferry-master said, tossing a rope around one post of the dock. “You lot have a good time now. Don’t cause trouble.”

“We will try our best,” Val replied, and stood, bowing to the ferry-master before stepping off the ferry.

“Come on,” Manny urged, as soon as they were off the docks. He did look visibly excited, which was unusual, and hurried out in front of the Guard as a whole. “Come on, I’ll show you – oh, there’s a good tavern here, I remember it!”

The winding dirt pathway led up the island’s hill, towards the center. Before long the trees gave way to buildings, and the street became paved. The town was smaller than Pabshaw, but not by much; it was still home to thousands of people, spread out over the island’s rocky terrain.

“Here, this way,” Manny said, and led the Guard through a series of monochrome streets. The buildings and cartways all seemed a dull gray in comparison to the vivid green of the trees and the brilliant blue sky, as well as the sparkling ocean. The sunlight seemed to have washed the color out of the man-made stones.

Manny led them through the central town to the north edge, and proudly presented to them a gray stone tavern with a sign out front reading “The Emperor’s Hart” and featuring a hand-painted stag, the colors worn and faded by time and weather. It wasn’t too far from the central square – the actual _town_ of Osden was not as large as it could have been, as most of the population lived on farmsteads or cabins – but it was not close to the wilderness either. From here, the street led out through the outskirts of town and turned through a small city gate into a winding path that led out towards the northern shore of the island.

“Here,” Manny said, beaming. “This is it!”

“The Emperor, huh,” Alfo said, glowering at the sign. “Still shows here.”

“Indeed,” Val observed. “Manny, lead the way? Or – continue to do so, I suppose.”

Manny pushed through the doorway and entered the tavern. “Hello!” he called into the half-lit room, and there was a moment of silence before someone shouted, “Ah, Manny! There you are, you rat scoundrel! Get in here.”

“Rat scoundrel,” Val murmured, to himself, with a smile. The Guard filed in and closed the door behind them, Magnolia last; Manny wound his way through the crowds easily and strolled up to the bar, leaning one elbow on it.

“Berthold,” he said, to the man behind the counter.

“Been a while,” the barkeep – Berthold – said, unable to hide his smile. “Where have you been?”

“Out and about,” Manny said. “I went to go kill that dragon, but Oghma teleported me to the Underdark with these people instead, so now I’m with them and also I’m here now. We’re here now.”

Berthold raised an eyebrow. “I see,” he said.

“Have you seen, um, around, have you seen –“

Something interrupted Manny’s question – the sound of a massive bell ringing, or rather, multiple bells. Tam tensed up; something was happening, and it wasn’t something good.

“Oh, no,” Manny said, glancing towards the door. “That’s the alarm, isn’t it?”

“Damn it,” Berthold muttered. “Not again!”

“Again?”

“You fight? Get out there, boy, and help the warriors handle this!” Berthold pointed towards the door, and without question Manny turned and darted back through the tavern to the door.

“My god, he’s fast sometimes,” Val said, and hurried after him. “Come on!”

The alarm spread fast. It seemed most of the commotion was coming from the northeastern edge of the town, and the Guard began to sprint through the streets, trying to keep pace with Manny and avoid running into civilians. Tam glanced around – there was a larger number of people running towards the clamor than he would have expected. Perhaps that’s what happened when a town was populated almost solely by warriors.

The northeastern gate was under attack. Smoke was already rising from at least one building; Tam reached out and pulled on the ravens of the area, drawing them towards him. They came over the roofs of the buildings in a black swarm, coalescing above him into one mass of whirling black feathers.

“This way!” Manny shouted, and skidded out into a main street. He stopped, mouth open, and the rest of the Guard followed him.

Standing in the center of the street, in front of what looked to be the shattered remnants of the northeastern gate, were three people – two armored warriors, dressed in furs, and one elderly human in blue robes. Beyond them, there was a veritable small army of what looked to be small, lizardlike beings, scales shining in the sun, silver and white. Tam recognized them; he’d seen kobolds before, in the Underdark, though those ones had been a beige color, with a few black. At the head of the force was a larger being – humanoid in figure, but covered in white scales, with the long neck and head of a dragon and the tail of one sweeping behind him.

Val led the group forwards, sprinting up beside the robed man. “What’s going on here?” he said.

“Can’t you see we’re under attack?” the old man snapped back, not even sparing a glance in Val’s direction. He was forming some sort of magical force in his fingers, concentrating on it. It shed a faint pale orange glow up at his face – wizened, bearded, sharp blue eyes squinting under thick brows.

“All-right,” Val said, and backed off. “I suppose let’s just get to it, then.”

The dragon-like form at the front of the army roared out something in a language that Tam couldn’t quite understand, but Val’s eyes went wide. “Well, damn,” he said. “Here they come!”

The kobolds charged forward, shouting in their various small voices. Val pulled his harp around to his front and ran his fingers over the strings, muttering to himself; in a moment there was a flare of scarlet in the center of the street, and then an explosion of noxious yellow-green vapor directly in front of the horde. Almost immediately, Tam heard their running feet stop as the kobolds breathed in whatever that spell had turned the air to. Val grinned.

But… that wasn’t it. It wasn’t just those kobolds – Tam moved back, narrowing his eyes. There were arrows on the ground, which meant there were archers. But where were –

An arrow caught one of his ravens; it tumbled from the sky and dropped to the cobblestones, flapping weakly before it died. Tam raised his staff and shield, and traced a line over the street in his mind, a line between the battle and the treeline, where the archers no doubt were hidden.

A fierce wind whipped up suddenly, on that line, and the next arrow that flew towards his ravens was caught up and thrown to the side, where it clattered uselessly to the ground.

 _“Very_ nice!” Val shouted, grinning, and looked over to the kobolds. “None of that over here, thank you!”

The white-scaled figure snarled something in Draconic, and Val rolled his eyes. “As if I hadn’t heard that before,” he shouted back. “Try to be original!”

“Before you attack!” the robed man shouted, drawing their attention. “Don’t hurt the silver ones! _Don’t hurt them!”_

Peculiar, but a request that Tam thought he could likely grant.

“Why?” Val shouted.

“I can explain _later!”_

“Typical.”

Alfo charged forwards. “Shadow, with me!” he shouted.

<This will break badly,> Shadow said, and materialized at his side, eyes wide and weeping as she leaped forwards into the fray. Tam saw Alfo slash down a kobold immediately and turn again, axe rising; then his view was blocked as several other warriors charged in. The warriors who’d been flanking the old man went first.

One adult man, one woman, both human. Tam moved forwards to where Manny was and glanced over to him.

For once, he wasn’t moving, or acting – he was simply standing still, staring into the battle. Tam experimentally waved the end of his staff in front of Manny’s face for a moment.

“Wha,” Manny said, shaking his head. “I…”

Tam pointed towards the fight. Manny opened his mouth and shut it again, still staring at the warriors.

The woman seemed to be having a bit of trouble. One of the kobolds caught her on the leg with a swipe of a short, serrated blade; she cried out and stumbled. That seemed to jolt Manny out of his trance.

“Oh,” he said, and raised his hands, palms glimmering with a familiar fire.

Good. Tam looked back to the battle and sent the ravens forwards. _The white ones. Kill the white ones. Leave the silver, the glimmering ones. We do not kill them._

Alfo roared out something in Dwarven, bringing his pike around. Shadow ripped something apart; Tam couldn’t quite tell what it was, as the ravens were blocking his view. He saw streaks of light from Manny go shooting past, and saw them mostly fizzle. What was he _doing?_ What was wrong with him?

For a moment, he was distracted by a kobold that got by and charged towards him, shrieking. It was a silver one; Tam took a step back, almost surprised by the attack, and jabbed the end of his staff forwards. It thunked solidly into the kobold’s chest, and Tam was about to send his insects swarming onto the creature to devour it when he remembered the robed man’s words.

Perhaps he should at least _try_ to heed them.

_That would be for the best._

Tam knocked the little lizard back and poked at its head a few times; he could fight with the staff, but had trained against human-sized elves for enemies not… these. And staves were channels for magic primarily, or walking sticks; not mainly weapons. That wasn’t what had been intended for them when they grew from branches.

The kobold hissed at him, and Tam poked at it, harder this time. It caught the lizard in the head and it stumbled back and sat down hard on the pavement.

“…play dead,” Tam said, hopefully.

The kobold scrambled up. Tam sighed and jabbed it a third time, and this time it fell backwards, scrambled up, and scampered off to find someone less well-armed to attack.

Tam would have watched it go, but at that moment he saw a flash of white as the fighting woman went down underneath a kobold that had launched itself at her. She disappeared instantly beneath the fray. That in itself was not what drew Tam’s attention; no, he whirled around at a cry from Manny, cutting through the noise of the battle.

 _“No!”_ the sorcerer screamed, and apparently threw caution to the wind as he sprinted forwards _into the middle of the battle._ He did so with no regard for his lack of armor or weapons, and didn’t seem to notice as the kobolds took a few swipes towards him.

This behavior was entirely out of character for him. Tam stepped forward into his place, frowning; the other warrior who’d been in the fight battled his way over to Manny, sending the kobolds scampering, and the blue-robed man sent a few darts of bright white energy flashing over the heads of the lizards, striking a few of them dead where they stood.

“Help!” Manny shouted. “Please!”

 _Very_ strange indeed. Tam looked forward and saw that, aside from the leader, most of the attackers had been driven aside. The commander was fighting with a small group of white kobolds by his side, the long curved sword in his hand clashing against Alfo’s sword. As Tam watched the commander drew back one hand, a flicker of light growing between his claws.

“Nope!” Val shouted, popping up at the edge of the battle. He snapped his fingers and the commander’s magic fizzled out.

Frustrated, the draconid slashed down at Alfo again, sending sparks off his blade. He seemed strong – strong enough to lock hilts with Alfo, mouth open to reveal sharp white teeth and a red tongue, and a cloud of frosted air around him.

Shadow, behind him, opened her jaws too wide and screamed inwards. Her attack narrowly missed Alfo and curled invisible tendrils around the commander’s form; Tam could almost see them as he went stiff, then convulsed, screeching at the top of his lungs, and finally collapsed onto the ground. Shadow snapped her jaws shut and swallowed.

With that, the remaining kobolds not on the ground turned and fled. Val watched them go; he didn’t bother going after them. Alfo pulled a bow from his belt pouch and began to fire off arrows at the retreating lizards, but only shot one down before the rest vanished into the trees. Shadow melted out of existence again, silent; she didn’t want to be around unless she had to be. Too many people had seen her already.

That was done. Next order of business was Manny.

He was crouched beside the woman’s form, hands pressed into her neck. The blood was coating his dark hands and staining the edges of his sleeves; he didn’t seem to care, or even notice. “Anybody who can heal, please?” he begged, looking up and around, frantically. He seemed genuinely distressed, and it showed – even more clearly than his joy at visiting Osden had.

“Oh, shit,” Val said, and sprinted over. Tam dismissed the wall of wind in his mind and followed; while he didn’t exhibit the flourish of magic Val did, he could also heal. He did not only kill.

_Not now. Not this one. Not this world. You are not of death. You do not… harvest._

He nodded to himself. Memories of the Harvester’s pallid skin and rotting face still haunted his mind from time to time, the maggots writhing beneath the skin and in the eyes.

_No._

Val knelt next to the fallen warrior and held one hand out, just above her throat. He closed his eyes and was silent for a moment before he began to hum softly to himself, something that sounded almost like a lullaby, if a lullaby were a bit more upbeat.

The blood leaking between Manny’s fingers stopped. Cautiously, the sorcerer removed his hands, and saw that the skin of the warrior’s throat was now clean, unbroken, though scarred. Val winced. “Can’t fix that,” he muttered, and moved on to heal her other wounds. Tam crouched down and handled the gash on her leg from the first attack that had wounded her; Val glanced up at him, gave a little smile and a nod, and looked back down.

 _Course, live, grow,_ Tam thought, focusing on the pulsing magic inherent to the lives of any creature. He gathered it up and sent it to the wound, watching the flesh un-rip itself together and the skin seal up beneath the torn leather.

“She’s alright,” Val said, and glanced over to Manny, frowning. “Why are you so – I mean, sorry if this sounds rude, but why do you care so much about her? Do you know her?”

“This is my mother,” Manny said.

“Ah,” Val said, bearing the held-at-pause expression of someone who has just made a tactless blunder and doesn’t quite know how to fix it.

“Lavondra,” Manny murmured. She was tall, with light brown skin, and wavy hair pulled back behind her head in a warrior’s knot. Now that she wasn’t bleeding out on the ground, she looked a lot more peaceful.

“Well, we should probably get her to safety, then,” Val said. “Can we – er, can we do that?”

“Yes, at once,” the robed man said. He turned – spectators for the battle had shown up – and gestured at the battlefield. “Find any silver kobolds and detain them! Don’t kill them! We’re going back to the tavern.”

 _Back_ to the tavern, as if he’d come with them. Tam shrugged and stood, brushing his hand against the inside of the Mantle as he did so. It had been stained with a drop of blood; the Mantle absorbed it and thrummed contentedly in his mind.

The Mantle of the Weald thrived on blood; without it, it withered away into dusty wool with no substance. Fully fed, it was a glossy, pebbled surface that resisted flame and whispered occasionally into Tam’s mind.

He was not inclined to deny it.

One of the warriors on standby lifted Lavondra’s sleeping form and carried her with them as they walked back to the tavern. “Very sorry for the harsh introduction,” the old man said, bobbing his head in small bows to the Guard members. “The name’s Ricsig. I, uh, live nearby, and it’s my job to protect Osden. But I’m glad you showed up when you did! We were having a bit of a tough time there, alright.”

His voice was scratchy and squeaky, and his manner of speaking was hesitant but forceful at once, as if he were trying to speak but couldn’t quite muster up the coherence to do so. Or was it more like the words were trying to escape, but he was holding them back?

“Protector of Osden,” Val said, raising an eyebrow. “And you are… a wizard, of some renown, probably?”

“Ah, no, not really,” Ricsig said, with a shrug. Was that nervousness in his expression? “I know some magic, but it’s mostly organizing. Militias, and all that. You know.”

“I don’t,” Val said, plainly, “but I suppose I’ll learn.”

Manny tailed after the warrior carrying Lavondra. “Is she alright?” he asked, more than once.

“She’ll be fine,” the warrior said, each time, with a hint of a smile. Tam tuned out, thinking about kobolds. Strange little things, they were, in the image of dragons and yet were so strange and… not flawed, precisely, because everything had its place, but…. Incomplete, it seemed.

And that commander. It had looked like a dragonborn, but no dragonborn had the sweeping tail that creature had, or the fully-formed face of a dragon. A half-dragon, then, was what that had to be. He’d heard of them before, but never met one.

The Emperor’s Hart was still open, and when they entered a few patrons immediately cleared off a few tables for them. “Oh, well, what’s this,” Berthold called, from behind the counter.

“She’s alive! We’re not carting corpses in again,” the warrior shouted back.

“I should hope not,” growled a new voice, and stepping out of the shadows was one of the most intimidating humans Tam had ever seen.

He was easily six and a half feet tall, wearing only furs for armor, with a long blond hair in waves falling over his shoulders and a leather band studded with bits of metal encircling his forehead. He didn’t seem to care for the cold air of Osden at all, as the armor was the _only_ clothing he was wearing, and strapped across his back was the largest axe a human could possibly wield, edge sharp but notched in a few places from use. The metal shone, still; as did the metal of the sword he carried at his side. Around his neck were strung a few thick leather strings, adorned with what seemed to be the teeth of various beasts and other assorted bone, stone, and metal trinkets.

_This man could kill any one of us as easily as he pleased._

“Ah, Ulf,” Ricsig said, and he seemed a little nervous.

“Welcome back to the tavern, oh protector of Osden,” Ulf rumbled, and the anger in his eyes was unmistakable. “Where were you this time, before they reached our gate?”

Ricsig swallowed, silent.

“How encompassing your protections have been for us,” Ulf snarled. “How far-seeing your eyes into the future. Do you still call yourself our defender, even now? After you failed to prevent this attack? After you failed, and Lavondra nearly died for it? You have failed your responsibilities; you no longer _deserve_ the title we bestowed upon you.”

“Is this a family argument?” Val whispered, to Alfo. “Maybe we ought to leave.”

“Hey,” Manny said, stepping forward. “Uh. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” Ricsig said, bowing his head. “He’s right. I haven’t been paying enough attention – I’ve been… overstretched. I’m not powerful enough on my own, and now that…” he trailed off, swallowing.

_He’s hiding something. Many somethings. He is almost entirely hidden, only glimpses of his form showing through the trees. And more – he cares more about this. He is involved here, more than he would have us know._

“Now that?” Val prompted.

“It’s a bit of a story,” Ricsig said. “Maybe sit down?”

The Guard seated themselves around while Ulf ignored them and sat next to Lavondra, holding one of her hands gently. Ricsig also seated himself, though he seemed a little uncomfortable.

“Osden,” he began, “was not only under my protection until late; it had more than just me. It had dragons, silver dragons, a whole family of them. They lived in a, ah, a tower nearby, over the fjord and – ehhh, a little bit sideways, in another realm.”

Tam did not tune out of this conversation; he needed to hear it. He listened.

“Recently, though, they were thrown out of their home by a white dragon called Duragfang! He’s, ah, he’s a real piece of work, that one, and now he’s taken control of all of the local kobolds, both his own and the silver dragons’ kobolds, and he’s using them against the town. He’s using our former allies to attack us!”

_A flash of silver. A frigid wind, fraught with particles of ice._

“How do you know all this? Aside from, like, the attacks,” Val said.

“Ah – I used to be a close friend of the dragons! Worked with them, carried messages to and from the town, you know. Did tasks for them.”

This was incredibly suspicious, though Tam seemed to be the only one who had any distrust towards the old man. As he spoke, Tam felt something touch his mind. Ricsig’s attention was on Val as he was talking, but his _mind_ was poking at Tam’s, and trying to read it.

And succeeding. It felt like when someone read a book over Tam’s shoulder, and he didn’t like it. It was not acceptable to do this, but if he brought it up, the rest of the Guard would throw a fit about it.

So how….

“Stop that,” Tam said, out loud, in Druidic. Perhaps Ricsig – who seemed to be more than an old wizard – would know it. Ricsig broke off mid-sentence, looking over, eyes wide. Tam did not move. “Search my mind again, and you will receive more than just a reprimand,” he continued, meeting Ricsig’s eyes.

_There’s more. There’s so much more there. He’s more._

“Ah,” Ricsig said, faltering. He looked a little taken aback – so he _did_ understand Druidic. Why? Who was he? No humanoid creatures, mortal creatures, but druids COULD know the secret language; it would be impossible for him to know it…

…unless he were a druid himself, or he were _more than mortal._

Fey, perhaps? Tam was silent.

“My apologies,” Ricsig said, eyes flicking over to him. “Didn’t mean to offend, yes, I’m just trying to note your intentions – I’ve had visions too, young man, and I know what you’ve seen. It’s the same thing I’ve seen, you see.”

Tam narrowed his eyes fractionally.

“The dragon in your dreams,” Ricsig said. “I’ve seen it too.”

“How do you know about that?” Val said, pulling his head back. “We didn’t say anything about it.”

Ricsig paused. “Ah,” he said, “I, er, uh, did a bit of… looking, you see, into your minds – just your surface thoughts, nothing more! For you, anyway. For your friend here –“

“He’s my cousin, and what the fuck,” Val said.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“You looked at his thoughts, but not mine?” Val sat back in his chair, folding his arms. “Hmph! Figure. Are mine not _interesting_ enough for you?”

 _…_ that’s _what he’s offended about?_

“Ehh, sorry?” Ricsig said, baffled.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Val muttered, rolling his eyes. “Go on. I’ll be over here, thinking my own thoughts.”

Ricsig squinted at Val, but didn’t say anything else, turning back to Tam instead.

“The dragon,” Tam prompted.

“Ehh, right! The big starry one. It’s, I’ve seen it in my own visions and dreams, too. I don’t know what it is – I was hoping you would? I know you know lots of things, and the four of you have done quite a bit of traveling around, I know, so I thought, well, maybe you’d know something I didn’t.”

“No.” Tam shook his head. “We don’t.”

“Well… that’s a pity,” Ricsig said. “But I… well, since you’re here – and I don’t know _why_ you came here but I’m glad you did – do you think you could help me with this problem? The, eh, the white dragon,” he clarified immediately.

“With the white dragon problem,” Val repeated, deadpan.

“Yes – I can’t handle it on my own. I know I should be able to, but it’s just too large and strong for me to fight on my own! I can’t handle him. Please, if you have any goodness in your hearts – help me.”

“Damn right you couldn’t handle it on your own,” Ulf snarled, from the nearby table. He laid Lavondra’s hand down gently on the wood and stood, moving towards the Guard and Ricsig. “You’ve sentenced Osden to endless attacks from the spawn of that beast, and haven’t so much as raised a hand to stop them, it seems.”

“I’ve tried my _best,”_ Ricsig said, voice pained. “I – with the silver dragons gone, much of the town’s protection is missing. There’s only so much I alone can do! They as a family protected this place, and, well, it’s not so easy when you’re one lone – wizard, against a _dragon._ ”

“You don’t happen to be a dragon too, do you?” Val asked, almost sounding bored by the question.

“W-what? No! Of course not!”

“Damn,” Val sighed. “That would have been useful.”

Ricsig stared at him, expression caught somewhere between surprised and terrified. _Odd._

“Your best is not enough,” Ulf snarled. “I can’t always be there to kill everything that comes against Osden’s defenses. You have failed us, and now you’re begging for some outsiders to do your work for you!”

“There’s a difference between shouldering tasks off to other people and asking for help with them,” Ricsig snapped back, standing. He did not even come up to Ulf’s chin. “Something that I’m not sure even you know, oh great warrior.”

“I fight my own battles because I can,” Ulf hissed, “and I am strong enough to. You choose others to fight for you, because you are too weak to do it on your own.”

“Why, you –“ Ricsig spluttered, balling his hands into fists. “Perhaps it’s better to recognize inherent weakness than it is to bluster constantly and throw a huff if you don’t get what you want!”

“Are you calling me arrogant?”

“I’m _saying,”_ Ricsig managed, voice shrill and forced, “that I think _your_ strategy of “throw yourself at the enemy head-on and damn the consequences” won’t exactly work in this situation, and maybe, if you had a more open mind or any capacity to adapt whatsoever, you wouldn’t say things as stupid as that!”

“Stupid, is that right,” Ulf growled, face going dark. “Perhaps since _you_ let the dragons be killed in the first place – it was _your_ visions that failed them, _your_ visions that failed us – you should be asking _yourself_ who is the stupid one here. If you didn’t make a fucking steaming _mess_ out of the initial situation, we wouldn’t be where we are now, and my wife wouldn’t have _almost died!”_

“All right,” Val said, standing up, “we are going to stop this now.”

Ulf and Ricsig both turned on him, fuming, and in that moment Tam had a horrifying mental image of Ulf just cracking Val in half like a kindling twig for a campfire, or Ricsig turning and marching out, going off to die to the dragon and damn the entire town.

But instead, Val held out his hands. “The fact that both of you have done things potentially wrong or have ideas that are perhaps not the greatest isn’t a viable grounds to throw a tantrum right here, right now, in front of everyone you know _and some strangers,_ and start blaming each other for your problems.”

“He is –“ Ulf started, and Val whipped a hand up.

“I’m not finished,” he snapped. “You need to back down, all right, and maybe see that the thing that works for you, specifically, isn’t necessarily the best idea for defending a town, or attacking an enemy that’s many times greater than the power you yourself possess.”

“That’s right,” Ricsig muttered, nodding.

“And you!” Val rounded on the wizard, who squeaked and went wide-eyed. “You need to stop defending your past maneuvers like they were any good! Who fucking _cares_ what you’ve done at this point. The problem _now_ is fixing the issue, not wishing you could have prevented it. Get over yourself.”

Ricsig opened his mouth and shut it again, then looked up to Ulf, who was standing there, fuming silently.

“Now,” Val said, folding his hands in front of him, “can we stop acting like children and get back to a productive discussion on what to do next? Or do you want to both go throw hissy fits out by the shore? If that’s what you need, by all means, go do it, but _go_ and don’t come back unless you’re ready to talk. Is that clear?”

The tavern was silent. Val looked between the two of them; Tam saw that the assembled townsfolk looked astonished and, in some cases, afraid. Offended, perhaps, that Val had spoken in such a manner to what were clearly two figures of power?

After a long moment, Ulf stepped back. “Very well,” he rumbled, folding his arms in front of his chest. “Fine. We will not speak of the past. We will move forward, and I will listen to what you have to say. If you want these strangers to help, then they may help.”

 _“Thank_ you,” Ricsig said. “I will ask them to, because I know I can’t do it on my own. I will not leave them alone, though. I’ll be going with them, when they go to fight the dragon – eh, if they accept the, ah, the quest, that is.”

“We’re not strangers,” Manny protested, from the sidelines. “By the way.”

Ulf’s eyes went wide. “Manny!”

“Hi,” Manny said, waving.

“Why didn’t you speak up before?”

“Everyone was busy,” Manny said, with a shrug.

Val sat down again, letting out a breath. “Absolute madness,” he muttered.

Manny hurried over to stand by Ulf, who enveloped him in a hug. “Oh, what,” Val said, squinting one eye shut.

“That’s my dad,” Manny said, pointing upwards over Ulf’s arm. He was just as tall as his father, but twig-thin in comparison.

“Ah,” Val said, again realizing he’d possibly blundered and wasn’t sure how to fix that. “Well, at least I’ve met your parents now. Great to know.”

“We ought to make a plan,” Ricsig said. “I – I have plans of the tower the dragon’s taken over –“

“The _tower?”_ Val interrupted. “It has a tower? I mean, I know you mentioned it before, but I didn’t realize the white dragon was now, like, _in_ it.”

“Yes, it used to belong to the silver dragons. I’ll show you tomorrow – perhaps we should, ehm, retire for the day. It seems tensions are a little high…”

“Just notice that now, did you?”

“We will,” Alfo interrupted, cutting in. He looked contemplative, thoughtful. “We’ll plan with you tomorrow. If we want.”

“Oh, right, I suppose we didn’t actually _agree_ to help you,” Val said, tapping one finger on his chin. He glanced over at the rest of the Guard. “Opinions?”

“The dragon is a danger to Osden,” Manny said.

“This is our task,” Tam said.

“I want to kill a dragon,” Alfo said.

Val nodded. “All very fair answers. We’ll assist you.”

Ricsig looked like he was going to melt out of relief. “Oh, thank you… I knew I could call upon you for help! You’re great Heroes, and dangers to the land are –“

“Don’t push it,” Val sighed, shaking his head.

“…right.”

With that, the meeting broke up; Manny vanished with Ulf and a newly-awoken Lavondra to somewhere else in the town while the Guard received their own rooms for the night.

The moon over the fjord was beautiful, glittering on the waters; Tam remained awake for a while, watching the mountain peaks. Somewhere, beyond them, was a white dragon, and – he knew – a glittering tower of ice.


	37. Enter the Rimespire

“It’s called the Rimespire,” Ricsig said, to the Guard, as they stood around a table in a side room of the Emperor’s Hart. “It’s the heart of its little, eh, region, and that’s also what the region is called.”

“Region?” Val frowned. “Of the mountains, or…”

“Of the Feywild,” Ricsig said.

_Ah. There it was._

“Oh,” Val said. “…the _Feywild_ , you say? Huh. All our exploits so far have been to the Shadowfell.”

“Both are undergoing a bit of trouble right now, I think,” Ricsig said. “Ah – at least, that’s what the dragons told me, when I asked them about it. They were the masters of the plane, you know, and knew, well, everything there was to know about it. They called it the realm of pride.”

Pride. That didn’t ring a bell, exactly; it didn’t mimic anything in any prophecies Tam had heard, from the Mantle or otherwise. And the Mantle was silent now.

“Sounds like you were right at home there,” Val muttered, and then sighed. “As would I be.”

“I don’t know, it’s pretty cold,” Ricsig said, missing the jab entirely.

“Yes, I was definitely talking about the cold.”

“Where’s the dragon in the tower?” Alfo broke in, pushing Val a bit to the side to get a better look at the papers spread out over the old wooden tabletop. “These are the layers to it?”

“Right. I don’t know where in the tower he’ll be; could be anywhere.” Ricsig paused. “I suppose I could cast a spell and see if I can see him… maybe we can figure out where he’ll most likely be when we go to fight him. Maybe we can even catch him by surprise!”

With that, Ricsig started muttering to himself, pulling an oblong object out of his sleeve a silver scale, smooth-edged and gleaming in the tavern light. A dragon’s scale.

He placed the scale curved side down on the table, then touched the inside of it, staring into nothing. “Ah,” he said, after a moment. “Yes, there it is. Cold as ever. It looks like there’s been some damage to the outer walls, though, which is not good – oh. There he is.”

“The dragon?”

“Duragfang,” Ricsig murmured, eyes narrowing at his vision. “He’s-“

He went silent again, eyes going wide, and then frantically slapped the scale away from himself, sending it clattering onto the floor.

“Whoa, what was that?” Val asked, as Alfo bent to retrieve the fallen scale.

Ricsig looked paler than normal. “He _saw_ me!” he gasped, one hand over his heart. “He saw me through my spell!”

“How do you know?” Manny leaned on the table.

“He looked me in the eyes and spoke to me,” Ricsig said.

Manny sighed, resting his chin on his hands and casting a baleful gaze down towards the maps on the table. “Yeah, he could probably see you.”

“What did he say?” Val tilted his head to the side. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

Ricsig paused. “Nothing much,” he finally said. “Just… ‘So, when will you return?’”

“Oh, because you’ve been there. He _expects_ you to go back?”

“Of course he does.” Ricsig paused, fumbling for words. “I’m the last caretaker of the place left alive, now, so, I suppose, he wants me dead too. And he thinks I’ll try to reclaim it.”

“Well… that is what you’re doing.”

“Of course it is! But he didn’t have to be so smart about it!”

“I thought white dragons were stupid,” Alfo said.

“No dragons are fools,” Tam murmured.

Ricsig pointed at Tam. “He’s right,” the wizard said. “All dragons are intelligent, most smarter than many mortals. Humans, elves, all that.”

“Damn.” Alfo sighed. “I guess we’re not taking it by surprise then.”

“I suppose not.” Ricsig chewed on one lip. “There is something else – I have a few tools for you, that might be of use. Only a few things, but when I escaped from the Rimespire during the attack, I managed to grab a few items from the dragons’ hoard. Specifically things I thought would be useful if I ever got the chance to go back and fight him, with people who could wield them by my side.” He gestured towards a chest that had been sitting, unnoticed, at the side of the room. “In there, Alfo, you’ll find a weapon; I think you’ll make the best use of it.”

Alfo turned and stomped over to the chest, heaving the lid up. “Oh, what’s this,” he said, lifting something out.

It was a long, dark-iron maul, surface gleaming. It held magic, Tam could tell, even from here, but he couldn’t determine what type.

“Please be careful with that,” Ricsig said. “It’s a dragonslaying weapon, and very dangerous. It will do great harm to Duragfang, if you can get close to him.”

“I’ll make good use of it,” Alfo said, weighing the weapon in his hands. “Now, killing a dragon seems a lot easier.”

Ricsig nodded. “And this is for whoever you think needs it most,” he said, pulling a small pouch from a pocket of his robes. “It’ll protect you from Duragfang’s cold, from the wind and ice he can spew out.

He undid the knot on the pouch-string and dumped the contents into his hand. It was a ring, one he set on top of the dark velvet pouch on the table; a simple silver ring, also imbued with magic.

“Oh, I could use that,” Val said, and reached out, lifting it in his fingers. He was already wearing rings, but none of them were magical; he compared it to his own, then paused.

“You freeze on a spring day,” Alfo said. “You want it? You take it.”

“Manny’s worse off with the cold,” Val replied, and turned, holding out the ring. “Here, you take it. You nearly died in the Feral Bosk from that storm. I’m from Pabshaw; I can handle a bit of chill.”

“We’ll see about that,” Ricsig said, as Manny took the ring from Val’s palm and slipped it onto one finger, then another, trying to see where it would look best.

_Go. Now. Time is wasting._

“We should go,” Tam said. “Time is passing.”

“Quite quickly indeed,” Ricsig murmured. “Time works differently in the Rimespire; it moves very quickly there, and very slowly here. Duragfang has plenty of time to prepare. We are not gaining anything by sitting around.”

“I’ll teleport us there,” Manny said, finally deciding on a finger for the ring and standing. “We may as well just be direct, right? We can get there from anywhere I can draw a little circle. But I can only take a few people…. Uh, I think I can take…” he paused, counting in his mind. “Five.”

“Well, that’s bad,” Val said. “We’re going to have to leave Magnolia and Kiran behind.”

<And me.>

“Gah,” Val said, jumping.

“What is it?” Ricsig said.

“Nothing.”

That was right – Shadow also wouldn’t be able to go.

<I don’t _want_ to go,> Shadow said. <I want to help you fight, but… that place is… not for me.>

A Shadowfell creature in a Feywild realm? A bad mix. Tam understood.

<I knew you would,> Shadow murmured, and he got the sense that was _only_ into _his_ mind.

There was nothing else to wait for. Ricsig led them outside, and – on the street, in full morning daylight – Manny drew a circle of glowing orange light, then another one around it, then started to fill them with runes in Draconic. “Get inside,” he said, casually. “You don’t want to be on the outside when this goes off.”

The Guard and Ricsig stepped inside the circle. Manny completed the last rune, snapped his fingers, and there was a loud _bang!_ And a flash of orange light.

Suddenly, everything was much, _much_ brighter than it had been. Tam had to shield his eyes for a moment, but tried to adjust as quickly as possible.

“Prepare yourselves!” Ricsig called. Tam swept his cloak around him, hoping to shield from any blast of wintry air dealt by the white dragon.

…none came. There were no wingbeats, no massive breaths. In fact… there was almost nothing at all.

Tam peered out from his cloak, then dropped the side of it he’d been wrapping around himself. All around him in every direction were shining surfaces of white and blue, but among them all, he did not see a dragon.

“Oh,” Ricsig said, sounding almost disappointed. “He’s… gone.”

The rest of the Guard dropped their attack poses – Alfo slipping the maul back into the hook on his belt – and glanced around. There was no Duragfang, anywhere.

All around the Guard there was a wide, circular expanse of white stone, mostly covered in snow. The edges of the tower roof dropped off without a barrier; Tam made a mental note not to go near them, because in all this white and blue, he could misjudge and fall off.

Beyond the tower’s edge rose mountains- white mountains, flecks of black showing in the snow where rocks managed to poke through the ice, as far as he could see. They looked like a ridge or range, but they didn’t end, no matter what direction he looked. The only thing that was different from the mountains was the sound below – or, at least, Tam _assumed_ it was a sound.

Nestled between the mountain where the tower rested and the next one was a flat, empty expanse of snow. It was perfectly untouched and far too uniform to be a field. It must have been a body of water, frozen over and snowed upon.

The Feywild, Tam remembered, sometimes mirrored the Material Plane. That was the echo of Osden and the fjord; but the sea did not dominated the landscape here. The mountains did.

Above it all was a sky brilliantly clear and too blue to look at. Tam had look down; he couldn’t stare upwards. It was too bright, too clear, too cold and perfect, cloudless with a white sun beaming down over the land.

His breath clouded in the air when he breathed out, and stung when he breathed in. Every little movement of the Guard seemed too loud, every crunch in the snow, every jingle of metal or rustle of cloth. It was quiet here, utterly still, silent beyond imagining.

“This is what it often looked like,” Ricsig whispered, catching onto the silence. “But it was more alive before. Now it feels like it just wants to hurt.”

Val and Manny looked like brilliant splotches of color against the white and blue; Alfo and Tam, dressed in dark grays and browns and greens, were less so. Ricsig practically blended in, blue and white and silver as he was.

“So where’s the dragon,” Alfo said.

“I don’t know,” Ricsig murmured. “Off in the peaks, somewhere, maybe? They aren’t as dead as they seem; there are many dwelling-places and burrows underneath the snow and ice. This place is alive.”

That didn’t sound like the way he’d been speaking so far. “You’re slipping,” Tam murmured, in Druidic. Ricsig coughed suddenly.

“I suppose… I guess we’ll go into the tower?” Val said, looking genuinely baffled. He glanced around, lowered his voice, and said, “if there’s nothing else to do, that is. No point in sitting here in the cold and sun.”

“The tower should be safe enough,” Ricsig said, nodding. “It was when I left it. After the dragons – well, while they were fighting, really. I don’t quite know what Duragfang may have done to. Probably wrecked it and left it to rot, the nasty beast.”

Ah, there was the anxious, chattering façade again. Tam was certain that Ricsig was not an old man, and was something else entirely. He had originally suspected fey, but it seemed ever more evident that Ricsig was connected closely to the silver dragons – perhaps, Tam thought, he was one of them.

A slowly spiraling stairwell led down into the uppermost level of the tower. Val went first, looking for traps, followed by Alfo, then Manny and Tam, then Ricsig.

And thus it was Val, followed by Alfo, who triggered the first trap that Val missed. “Ah, fuck,” Val said, when he heard the faint click of some mechanism whirring, and Tam stopped moving in time to watch Alfo and Val both drop as the stairway partially collapsed, going from gray stone into smooth ice. Val scrambled and tried to grab hold of the stair ledge, and Alfo tried to dig a hand-axe into the ice, but both failed and tumbled away below.

“Well, there they go,” Ricsig said, with a sigh.

“Oh! Oh fuck! Piss off, you little scab,” came Val’s voice from below.

“Oh, no,” Manny said, and without hesitation sat down and slid down the stairway into the room below.

Tam waited, hearing the thud of Alfo hitting something and the ringing hum of Val’s blades singing to each other as he fought. The ice in the stairway faded, and Tam hurried down the steps in time to see Alfo wrench his spearhead out of the body of a white kobold. Val stood in the center of the room, Windsinger and Duskchanter now dormant at his sides. He sheathed the blades and glanced around.

The room around them was a library, or at least, had been one once. Ricsig let out a pained noise as he beheld the ruin; the bookshelves were singed, emptied, books ripped and burned and scattered over the floor. Most of the furniture had been dismantled and used to feed the fire currently burning merrily in the center of the chamber, and many of the books, as well.

“Oh, oh dear,” Ricsig said, crestfallen. “This was a _priceless_ collection – these were ancient works, beautifully crafted, and… these _vermin_ burned them. How _dare…”_

He seemed both heartbroken and furious. “There’s not many signs of the battle left, at least,” he continued, glancing around the room. “Which is… good. I wonder what Duragfang did with – with the bodies.”

Manny began to pick through the debris. “There’s a lot of ash here,” he called over, “but I think there’s a few books still left. Maybe once we kill the dragon we can sort through this and find what’s still alright?”

“Maybe,” Ricsig said, gloomy.

Alfo kicked snow and ash over the fire, stamping on the flames until they went out. With it gone, the room dropped in temperature; the frost on the few tall slit windows became much more evident, and the light dimmer. Suddenly, the place didn’t feel ransacked – it felt dead.

“Let’s keep going,” Ricsig said.

They headed back to the stairs, which continued their circle around the inside of the tower, still heading down. Val went first, with Tam following him this time – a good decision when, four steps down, Val stopped, hissing.

“Another trap,” he said. “Look! See?”

He pointed upwards. Tam followed his finger and saw, almost invisible on the gray stone above, the outlines of what could be lines drawn on the stones. “Maybe,” he said.

Val took a breath, touched the tips of his first two fingers to those of his other hand, held them apart, and then pointed them up towards the spot, holding them next to his face. He breathed out.

The lines suddenly gleamed, and in seconds a glyph flickered to life, scribed across the entire ceiling. It do anything, but was suddenly evident, blue-purple lines hovering just off the surface of the stone, crackling with energy. It was a trap – one Val could not disarm.

“Well, that’s out of my area of expertise,” Val murmured, staring at it.

“And mine,” Ricsig said.

“Oh, I was hoping you wouldn’t say that.”

Tam narrowed his eyes at it. “Let me see,” he said, and raised one hand, palm out, towards the glyph.

It was etched into the universe at this specific point. But what if he could untie it from that point, or untie it altogether? He saw the strings as diving through the weave of the world, through the fabric, and tried to see where he could cut or snip that wouldn’t cause it to go off.

It was taut in many places, but in just one of them, the lines all rested on a single point in the drawing – a single point that, if disrupted, would break the sigil and render it powerless. Tam raised the staff, turning it so one gnarled root-like spike of wood was upwards, and very carefully pressed it to the glyph in the spot he needed.

The glyph went dark.

“Well, shit! You did it!” Val beamed. “Can you scuff it out so it can’t be used?”

“Sure,” Tam said. He smudged the marks of the rune with the end of his staff and set it down. “It’s useless.”

“That was brilliant! Thank you.”

The floor below slowly came into view; the windows were frosted over, but the room overall seemed mostly unharmed. “Oh!” Ricsig said, face lighting up as he saw it. “This is the bulk of the collection.”

The floor was elegantly decorated with a few matching rugs, atop which were beautifully carved pieces of wooden furniture, upholstered with fine leather and velvet. There were smaller bookshelves containing a multitude of fascinating little trinkets, and around the edges of the room a massive collection of strange, unique objects – metal armor sets, weapons, pieces of jewelry, paintings, tapestries, books, pieces of clothing, a couple of shields.

“This is their hoard,” Ricsig exclaimed.

“Magnificent,” Val said. “It really is. What is it all?”

“Things that mean something. Items of historical significance, like the armor or an emperor or the weapon of a warlord, the quill used to sign a peace treaty, the arrows fired by a famous archer. The jewelry of kings and queens, magical or not.”

“Oh, it’s really nice,” Manny said, staring in awe at a display case filled with glittering precious stones.

“Why, thank you,” Ricsig said, bowing his head. “It took a very long time to gather.”

_Is he even really trying to hide it? If he is, he’s doing a terrible job._

Sounds echoed up the stairs from the next floor down. The Guard went still, eyes wide, and Tam sent a few rats out to skitter down the steps and see what was what.

A few very heavily-armed kobolds were standing in the center of a room filled with broken glass and smashed containers. It may have once been a laboratory; it wasn’t anymore.

“Kobolds, powerful,” Tam said, quietly.

Val crept towards the edge of the floor where it dropped, leaving the stairs. “How many?”

“Only a few.”

“You know what, I’ll take care of this,” Val said, and pulled something from his bag. He sighed. “Nothing like a bit of noise in a quiet library.”

With that, he flopped down on his stomach and poked his head under the ledge to see into the room. “Hello!” he called. “Catch!”

He swung his arm into the room and threw something aside, then scrambled back. “Oh! Cover your ears,” he said, doing so himself.

Tam just got his hands up in time to block the tremendous crack of sound from the room below, and the sound of shattering glass and shrieks. Manny sprinted down the stairs and tossed a few bolts of bright orange flame from his fingertips, grinning wildly.

_That’s one way to do things; just avoid them. Val’s good at that._

Manny vanished into the floor below, and Tam and Ricsig waited while the cries of the kobolds faded out in a hiss and sputter of flame. “Hey,” Manny called back, not trying to keep his voice down anymore. “There’s one left, but it’s silver.”

“Silver!” Ricsig sprang up and hurried down the stairs, gently pushing past Tam. “Let me see.”

Tam and Val followed him down the stairs. The lab was even more of a mess than it had been before, now strewn with the corpses of the kobolds that had awaited the Guard, but in the back between two bookshelves there was a small armored kobold cowering against the wall.

“Hello, you,” Ricsig said, and squinted. “I know you.”

The kobold peered between his fingers, then dropped his hands and turned around, astonished. He said something in Draconic that Tam could not understand, and Ricsig’s expression melted into joy.

“You survived!” he said, beaming. “Oh! I am delighted. Ah – this is Yarck.”

“What a name,” Val said.

“He’s, eh, a little deaf at the moment, thanks to your rock, but he’s a friend.”

“Can we ask –“

Ricsig interrupted Val. “Yarck, go upstairs,” he said, “and wait there. Don’t come down; we’re going to kill Duragfang and make it safe here again.”

Yarck chattered something excitedly at them, again in Draconic, then scampered away, up the stairs. Ricsig watched him go with a fond smile.

From there, there was only one way left to go. The stairs spiraled down, bulging outwards a bit, until they met a dark wooden door coated in frost.

“I think,” Ricsig said, “he’ll be through here.”

“Got anything last-minute to help us fight him?” Val said. “I’m betting he’ll annihilate us the second we step through that door.”

His tone was causal, but Tam could hear an undertone of fear. He was frightened of this dragon – and he had every right to be.

“Not right now, I don’t,” Ricsig muttered. “Maybe when we’re actually fighting.”

“Fine, keep your secrets.”

“He won’t attack right away. He’ll want to talk.”

“The dragon, talk at us? Monologue like a villain in some fantasy book?” Val snorted. “Sure.”

“Where do you think storytellers got the idea?” Ricsig glowered at the door, and at the enemy beyond it. “He won’t be able to resist.”

Alfo opened the door, with the reasoning that he would be the one best able to withstand Duragfang’s frigid breath should the dragon attack. But when they grated open, no blast came.

No, they were just casually watched by the piercing white eyes of the dragon curled comfortably in the center of the room.

Duragfang was lounging on a heap of ice and rubble, tail flicking languidly, wings half-spread out over his hoard. He looked them over and yawned as they entered, revealing rows of extremely sharp teeth, all white – all but one front fang, which was a gleaming silver. He held his mouth open just long enough for the entire Guard and Ricsig to catch a full glimpse of it, then snapped his jaws shut with a heavy thud and a whoosh of air.

“Finally,” he drawled, in Common, in a voice that dripped with malice and scraped like a corpse dragged through the snow. “You’re back.”

“I’m back,” Ricsig said, standing tall. His fists were balled up at his sides; he seemed rigid with fury.

The walls of the chamber were mostly intact, but one of them had been torn apart, a gaping hole opening to the outside. _He must not be able to take a smaller form and use the doors, (i)_ Tam thought.

As for the _rest_ of the chamber – there was no telling what it had once been. Duragfang had sculpted it to his liking, coating the walls with frost, removing the angled corners and creating a spherical chamber of ice. Frozen into the new walls were scatterings of coins and gems, a few pieces of armor; not much else, really, though it looked like it was perhaps a work in progress.

“I’m using the baser tongue so the mortals you’ve chosen as your company can understand me. It’s courtesy.” Duragfang smiled, a strange, terrifying expression on the face of a dragon. He tilted his head slightly to the side, almost as if he were amused. “Do you like what I’ve done with the place? I’ve redecorated.”

“This place,” Ricsig hissed, “is an _abomination._ ”

“Abomination? I think it’s an improvement. Your human toy-house was the real abomination. Things like that don’t belong in dragon territory.” Duragfang snorted, a huff of cold air that billowed over the floor and dispersed into wisps of fog. “You called yourselves refined, made furniture and houses and played with the mortals just next door. You had _parlors_ and _tombs._ ” He paused, blue eyes glinting. “Ah, the tombs.”

“What did you do,” Ricsig managed, and then, “ _What did you do!”_

“Wouldn’t you like to find their snow and ice graves, little one? Your precious lifemate, your little hatchlings? Wouldn’t you like to find them, oh former master of this realm? Wouldn’t you just like to know where they are?” Duragfang laughed, throwing his head back, utterly unconcerned. “To be honest, I don’t know. I don’t really remember where I threw them.”

_“You monster!”_

Ricsig took a few paces forwards, shrieking, and then his form shimmered and dissolved, wisps of color billowing outwards like a cloud of smoke until the blues and whites were gone and all that remained was silver. It coalesced again, into a form, and then between Duragfang and the Guard stood a silver-scaled dragon, wings half-spread and crest up, hissing furiously.

“I feel like I should be surprised,” Val said, “but I’m not.”

 _Ah… he_ is _one of the dragons that he said had died. So he’s come back, with allies, to reclaim a home he lost. Time will tell if we are able to help him._

The silver dragon hissed, half-spreading his glittering wings. “You will pay for what you have done,” he snarled. “To the village. To this land.”

“I think not.”

“I will avenge the lives of my family! _I will take from you what you took from me!”_

For a moment, the white dragon simply stared. Then he sighed again, another gust of fog that billowed across the floor. “You know,” he purred, flicking his eyes up and opening his jaws again just enough to show his teeth, “I enjoy that you’ve come back to challenge me.”

Namroth paused, unsure of how to act.

“I do! I really do.” Duragfang flicked his tongue out, over the tip of his nose, then turned his head, lowering his gaze to fix them in it. “It will make disposing of your body that much easier.”


	38. Snowsquall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait. I moved states and also started college again.

“I am Namroth, guardian of Osden and king of the Rimespire, and you will no longer _dirty_ my domain with your presence, you vicious, dishonorable beast!” the silver dragon bellowed, tail lashing; Val had to duck under a swipe of it with a squeak.

“I know who you are,” Duragfang said, sounding almost bored. “You’re a pathetic little youngling with too much snap for his size. I would suggest that you leave and try me again later, but we both know you’d just die no matter how long you stayed away. I’d only get stronger.”

“Enough of this!” Namroth crouched, making to leap forwards.

Duragfang moved faster than Tam thought anything could move. In an instant he was up on his feet, head back, and he struck forwards as if spitting something out. When he opened his jaws, a burst of even colder air exploded outwards, slamming into Namroth and sending shards of ice clattering off his scales.

The impact threw Val backwards, physically tossing him into the wall like a limp toy. He yelped as he went, but Tam didn’t hear any bones break, so he was probably fine. Probably. Mostly.

Tam himself had to drop to one knee and huddle against the sudden wind, pulling his shield around to his front; Manny, on the side, clutched at his throat – he couldn’t breathe in the cold – and almost collapsed. Alfo seemed the best off of all of them, shielding his face grimly against the onslaught.

Namroth did not seem to care about the attack. He pounced forwards, claws outstretched, and tackled Duragfang head-on, roaring in Draconic – or perhaps those weren’t words, and he was just screaming. Tam had no way of knowing.

“Fire,” Manny wheezed, pointing. “Fire…!”

A brilliant drop of light collected at his fingertip, then shot away towards Duragfang, slamming into his scales just beneath one of the wings. It didn’t seem to do much, but Manny was undeterred; he pulled himself to his feet and fired again, another little streak of light. And another, and another, and another.

Alfo charged forwards as well, pulling out the new maul that Ricsig – Namroth – had given him, and he made a swipe at Duragfang’s leg.

Tam couldn’t send little bolts of flame and heat off like Manny did, but he _could_ break open a temporary connection to the basest elemental powers and bring one of them through.

This he did, raising his staff; in the center of the room, just over Duragfang’s back, a spot of light blossomed, then swelled rapidly – first to a small sphere, then to a larger one, and then to a huge globe of flames that roiled and surged like a miniature sun, shining just as bright as one. Tam nearly had to look away – but he didn’t, instead focusing on slowly and carefully forcing the sphere down so it collided with Duragfang’s back and wings.

It was pure fire, from the Elemental Plane, and it _hurt_ , Tam could tell. Duragfang screeched and threw his head back, turning to see it, and hissed when he spotted the flames, whipping his body out of the way.

This, however, put it in Alfo’s range. The dwarf struck forwards and slammed the maul upwards into Duragfang’s side, and even from this distance Tam could hear scales crunch and shatter under the black iron.

That seemed to change something in Duragfang’s mind. The white dragon wrenched his entire body from side to side, throwing Namroth away, and backed up a step, spreading his massive wings.

“Watch out!” Val shouted, from behind, and then Duragfang flapped, and flapped again, beating his wings to kick up wind. The force nearly sent Tam backwards into the wall; he wondered if Val had gone flying again.

The wind of Duragfang’s wings kicked the powdery snow in the room up, filling the air with a glittering haze. In that – between the lancing beams of light and shifting shadows – Tam saw the shape of Duragfang move backwards, towards the bright hole in the wall. He leaped through it and was gone.

 _“Oh, no you don’t!”_ Namroth roared, and leaped after him, whisking away. Tam heard the beating of both sets of wings begin to grow more distant.

“Ah, fuck!” Val shouted. “Uh – who’s the most – Alfo! Come with me!”

“Let’s go,” Alfo said, behind Tam.

Tam turned in enough time to see Val, running, reach out and touch Alfo on the shoulder. “Up we go!” he said, and there was a flash of scarlet and gold light, and a crack like thunder, and the two of them were instantly gone.

They must have gone back up to the roof. Alfo could produce infinite bows from his pouch, and he had very nice aim; additionally, he would last longer against directed attacks from Durgfang. It was the smart thing to do, take him. Tam – now bereft of his rats, who had all flash-frozen – hurried towards the stairs, Manny at his side.

“What’s going on out there, do you think?” Manny asked, sounding a little hoarse from the cold wind but otherwise fine.

“Fighting,” Tam said.

“Well, yeah. I guess you’re not wrong.”

They hurried up through the levels of the tower until the roof was just above. Tam could hear the echoing roars of the dragons, screaming at each other over the mountains. He wondered who had the upper hand.

He didn’t wonder, actually. It was going to be Duragfang, the one who was older, stronger, and in every way more powerful than his opponent. Tam hurried.

From the top of the roof, he could hear the sounds of the two dragons fighting. He and Manny hurried through the layers of the tower until they stood on the stairs just below, bright clear daylight streaming in.

“Careful!” he heard Val shout, from the top. “Don’t hit Namroth!”

“I’m not stupid,” Alfo shot back, and there was the twang of an arrow loosing from a bow.

Tam hurried up the stairs. Val was just at the top, one foot on the uppermost stairstep, ready to duck out of danger at a moment’s notice. “It’s not going well,” he said nervously.

The two dragons whirled around the tower, sometimes locked together with claws scraping and gouging, sometimes separating to sweep in tight circles and crack back together again. From each conflict would emanate at least one small spray of blood, a slash from claws or a spurt out of a new puncture wound dealt by someone’s teeth. Namroth was already speckled with wounds and torn up; Duragfang didn’t look nearly as bad. The Thunderang went whipping outwards, curved far around the duo, and swung back to the tower.

“I can’t _do_ anything to him when he’s not near!” Alfo snarled, frustrated, as he caught the Thunderang out of the air. “Get him over here?”

“How?” Manny croaked, still hiding in the staircase.

“I don’t know! Just do it!”

Val cleared his throat.

_Oh no._

“Excuse me!” he shouted, at the top of his lungs, towards Duragfang. The two dragons had just parted again, and as Duragfang was hovering in one place with massive scooping beats of his huge wings, his head snapped around, blue eyes fixing on the bard. “You sack of shit!”

Duragfang said nothing.

“You big, lazy lizard! Glorified skink with wings! You keep flying around, hiding from us because you're too weak to use your claws, like a scared little worm," Val shrieked, at the top of his lungs. “If you're so strong, if you're so powerful, then why don’t you come over here and fight me yourself, you _coward?”_

The white dragon was silent for a moment. His pupils dilated, focusing on Val, and with a surge of power he downstroked hard and came straight for the top of the tower.

“…oh, he’s actually doing it,” Val said weakly, and Duragfang stretched out one foot as he landed and dug his claws into Val’s chest, shoving the bard to the floor; his head hit the ice with a sharp crack. He yelped once and then went silent as one of Duragfang’s claws dug directly in between his ribs. Tam heard several of them snap, could tell that the dragon's weight was crushing Val's fragile form.

“Oh, no,” Manny said.

This was their chance. Duragfang would take off if Alfo got close enough to him to attack, so they had to make sure he couldn’t do that. Tam hoisted himself out of the stairwell and hurried forwards, strides uneven and rushed, and tried to focus himself and his magic. He kept his eyes up, off Val, who was unmoving as Duragfang curled his head back and peered down at him with a snarl.

_The world gives life. The world takes life._

He made it to Duragfang’s leg, where he reached out, the staff and its insects in one hand, and touched the white dragon’s scales. They were frigid, and his hands – clammy as they were with sweat – stuck slightly, the skin instantly freezing and tearing as he moved his hands.

But that was all it took. He felt the power twist in his hands as it left him, reaching outwards like the grasping tendrils of a vining plant, like bindweed; marks like the tracks of a climbing stalk wormed their way across Duragfang’s scales, and almost instantly the dragon reared back, screaming at the top of his lungs. Tam could feel the magic digging through his target’s scales and flesh, worming its way into the organs, curling around the joints and bones. He could see it immediately effecting Duragfang. The dragon threw his head back and bellowed out in discomfort, a sticky, dark liquid pouring out the corners of his mouth. It was already beginning to seep from the corners of his eyes as well, and the holes on his head that led to his eardrums.

_Oh, by the gods…_

This was so much worse than Tam had thought it might be. He took a few steps back, staring in horror, as Duragfang dropped his head again and stared blankly at the ground, heaving in breaths; every time he breathed out, flecks of dark, frothing liquid spattered the icy tower roof.

Alfo roared out something incomprehensible in Dwarven and rushed forwards, the mace held high. He whirled in a circle and slammed the thing into Duragfang’s face, and the dragon actually stumbled back, stunned and then just… stood there. He stood there, swaying gently, as Alfo hauled back and cracked him in the face again with the mace, splintering bone with an audible crunching sound. “When Val said come over here,” he bellowed, “he really meant _come after me!”_

_This isn’t right._

Tam scrambled backwards, away from the scene. At least the dragon had moved off Val’s form, and he grabbed his cousin’s wrist and dragged him backwards a few feet, staring up in horror at Duragfang. Alfo attacked again, and Duragfang barely even moved. Tam pulled magic from the staff, from himself, and fed it into Val’s unconscious form. The bard spluttered to life again and sat up, then yelped and scuttled backwards over the ground like some kind of weird spider.

“Holy shit, what’s wrong with him?” Val said, sounding awed. “Did _you_ do that?”

_I did. I shouldn’t have._

“No!” Above them, Namroth descended. “ _No!_ What have you done?!”

_He sees. He understands what I’ve done. He’s right to be disgusted. This is too far, too much._

_“What did you do to him?!”_

“Fucked him up, seems like,” Val said, nodding thoughtfully. He pulled himself weakly up and unsheathed his rapiers, moving delicately forward. Even so wounded he was elegant; he ducked under Duragfang’s wing and jabbed Windsinger into the dragon’s leg, between the scales. It didn’t seem to do much. “Right. I’m just one man with a sword. Uh… get him, Alfo!”

Tam didn’t speak. He didn’t have an excuse for this. This kind of magic – this was beyond what was naturally acceptable. He could see the sickness forcing Duragfang’s limbs to shake, making his breath tremble. This was – this was abominable.

“Yarck, undo this!” Namroth roared. “I will _put an end to this!_ ”

“Undo – wait, what?” Val looked over.

From the stairwell, a tiny silver form charged forward, obeying his masters every command. He pulled a startlingly well-made sword from his back and ran forward, one hand outstretched.

“No, stop,” Val called. “We – we _just_ managed to do this –“

Yarck laid one hand on the white dragon in front of him, and in a puff of silvery magic, Tam felt his spell dissolve into nothing. The immaterial tendrils of magic wrapped around Duragfang’s innards evaporated entirely, leaving nothing behind; Duragfang himself shook his head, eyes clearing.

“Oh, come on!” Val dropped his hands. “I – we _just_ managed to make that work! Why’d you ruin it?”

“Such tainted magic is _not_ permitted here,” Namroth snarled, landing, eyes ablaze. He reared his head back.

_Is – is he going to breath weapon us?_

The silver dragon’s head shot forward and he spat a stream of almost invisible gas from his jaws, the air seeming to boil around it. But it was cool to the touch. Tam barely felt it against his skin. Still, as he did, he felt his form slow, growing weaker, though he tried to shake it off and felt it fail to grasp him properly. _It’s a paralytic._

“Come the fuck on!” Val shouted, stumbling where he stood. “We were doing some real work there!”

“You were using magic that draws from the evilest of sources,” Namroth snapped back, pulling his head up. “I will not allow it! I will not allow evil!”

“I cannot believe this,” Val muttered. “You’ve got to be shitting me. How can you be so stupid as to think that because we–“

Laughter. Everyone glanced over; Duragfang had recovered, and Tam looked in his direction soon enough to see the white dragon crouch and leap to the side, claws outstretched. He slammed into Namroth’s side, sending Yarck flying backwards as he moved, and knocked the smaller dragon off the top of the tower. They tumbled over the side in a flailing tangle of wings and tails and dropped out of sight.

“This is what fucking happens!” Val shouted after him. “This is what happens when you don’t let us do our damn jobs – he’s gone.” He pulled himself up, ignoring the fact that he was still bleeding, and hurried to the side of the tower. “They’re falling. Tam, I’ve got an idea.”

_Please be better than my idea._

“I’ll teleport us up into the air, and if you use your, um, your turning people into animals power on me, you can turn me into a whale and I’ll fall on him and crush him.”

 _I don’t know why I bothered to hope._ “…what?”

“They’re coming back up. Never mind. Duck!”

The two dragons came flapping back over the top of the tower. Manny wound back, screwing one eye shut, and made a motion as if he were throwing something; instead of his little red bead of fire, it was a full-sized spear, a flaming harpoon. It shot upwards and passed between Namroth’s flapping wing and his body, zipping just over his shoulder and burying itself in Duragfang’s side, where it exploded. A shower of white scales cascaded down onto the tower roof, and the white dragon screamed.

With that, Duragfang backwinged and tried to shake Namroth off. “You’ve only gotten this far because of your wretched little mortal friends,” he snarled. “Without them – you are nothing –“

“Stronger together, bitch!” Val hollered, up at him.

“You will not escape this,” Namroth hissed, and released one paw to claw at Duragfang’s face. The white dragon spun in the air and threw him downwards, kicking at Namroth’s belly with his hind paws; his talons left deep slashes across the silver scales. Namroth screeched as he fell and hit the top of the tower spine-first, crashing into the ice and skidding across it. He didn’t move at first, which was a moment of heart-rending fear, but he started to try and pull himself up like a wounded beast as Duragfang landed.

The white dragon snarled, hissing out a blast of ice that sent the Guardmembers scuttling backwards as he advanced on Namroth.

_I have to do something._

“I don’t have any _spells,_ ” Val hissed, eyes wide. “Namroth, come on, get up!”

“He won’t be doing that,” Duragfang purred. Tam moved one hand to a small, empty leather pouch on his belt. Well, mostly empty. _Go. Get in._

Alfo charged forwards, or tried to. Duragfang swept around in a circle and cracked him across the chest with his tail, sending him flying backwards and nearly off the top of the tower; he thudded solidly into a parapet of stone and ice instead and fell to his knees.

“You put up such a nice fight,” Duragfang sighed. “I will keep your skull as honor to you. The last of your line, miserable to the very end, but strong enough to wound me. For that, you will be remembered. And that’s _all_ you’ll be remembered for. That, and your death.” He cocked his head to the side, one icy eye peering down at Namroth, arrogant and dismissive. Namroth struggled to stand, but his front legs kept slipping and he couldn’t pull his hind paws underneath him. He flapped the wing that wasn’t trapped under his body, frantic; Duragfang opened his jagged jaws.

Tam turned halfway, just enough to yank the pouch off his belt, whisper a few words of magic into it, and throw it as hard as he could from under his cloak. Duragfang’s head snapped up towards it and he followed the arc of the pouch with wariness and disinterest. It landed at his feet and skidded underneath his body.

And did nothing.

“And?” he said, and then the pouch exploded as the scorpion inside suddenly magnified in size, claws already out. It scuttled sideways out from Duragfang and struck forwards with its claws, clamping onto his wing and one of his hind legs; startled, he puffed out a cloud of icy mist and tried to step backwards, away. He lowered his head and twisted it around to get a better look at the insect, perplexed.

Namroth reached up, curling his body to close the distance, and grabbed hold of Duragfang’s throat. The white dragon squawked, startled, and Namroth yanked the other dragon’s throat down and, digging his claws into the now-unprotected flesh, opened his jaws and sank his teeth into Duragfang’s windpipe. He twisted his head savagely.

There was a strange sound, like the cap on a scroll case popping off, as Namroth ripped Duragfang’s throat apart. A gout of cool, dark red blood spurted out onto the top of the tower and splashed over Namroth’s forelegs and face. The silver dragon kept his jaws locked in place, gray eyes burning. Duragfang flailed frantically and collapsed onto his side, trying to right himself, but he couldn’t manage it; he lacked the strength. The scorpion let go and scuttled backwards, tail at the ready.

There was no need for it.

Tam watched as the movement of the dragon’s wings began to weaken, the snapping of his jaws slowing. His movements became uncoordinated, claws scraping helplessly at the ice, until he choked out a few bubbles of air in the viscous red of his throat and, finally, fell still.


	39. The Darkening Sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh we're back. We've found the missing notes, and can continue to tell this story.

Val whooped out loud. “Holy shit!” he shouted. “We did it!”

Namroth opened his jaws and slumped backwards onto the ground. Duragfang’s crumpled form lay still, dark red slowly pooling around his shredded throat. His eyes, still that clear blue, were beginning to frost over.

Slowly, the silver dragon pulled himself up, limping as he did so. “Oh, shit,” Val said, “you could probably use like some healing or something, yeah?”

“I will be fine,” Namroth rumbled, folding his wings in with aching slowness. He was clearly in pain. “Use it on yourself. Your bones are half dust.”

“Well, that’s not really true, repair magic does ensure that before anything else it just restores the structure of your body so that you can blah blah blah it fixes your bones and organs first. Which you probably already know.”

Namroth didn’t respond to that, just shook his head and sat down next to Duragfang’s corpse. “He is vanquished,” he said, “and so my family is avenged. They are no more, but neither is he.”

“That is really cool,” Val said, “and can I please, _please_ take bits of the corpse. Like, that sounds really bad, I know, but it’s also definitely one of the stronger materials I could ever use and Rhoskan can almost _certainly_ make some really cool shit out of it.”

"Isn't Rhoskan also a white dragon?" Manny said, peering around Val's shoulder.

"It's fine. Everything's fine," Val hissed, to him.

“…sure,” Namroth said, flatly. “I ask that you do not desecrate his corpse, but I’m unsure of what exactly would qualify as desecration to you.”

“I feel like that’s supposed to be an insult.”

Tam moved forwards, holding out one hand; the scorpion scuttled towards him, shrinking as it did so. He picked it up off the ground and slipped it into his cloak, where it wouldn’t be so cold.

Duragfang was a powerful enemy, and a powerful creature. He should be respected even in death. Tam would perform the Rite of Returning for him.

“Excuse me,” he said, pushing past Val, who was already wiggling scales on the dragon’s sides, testing to see which ones were loose.

A tooth, a toe claw, a tail spine. There wasn’t much he could do – the body of the entire dragon would have taken many druids to move and disassemble, and he had neither the time nor the resources. But he could take portions of the body, and enact the same ritual, and at least somewhat return him to the earth.

Partly, Tam knew, as he worked the blade of that little stone knife into the joint of one of Duragfang’s front claws, this was standard procedure when you took the life of something this powerful. Such things had to be… honored. Partly, though, Tam kept seeing in his mind’s eye the dazed, dizzy look in the white dragon’s eyes as the dark necromancy gripped his heart and lungs and through his blood creeping through his veins devouring his –

There was a faint crunching sound as his knife finally severed the cartilage holding Duragfang’s claw on and cut through the rest of the scales, and he blinked, fingers closed around the white bone.

He glanced up. Namroth winced, looking away.

“Sorry, pal,” Val said, to him. “We wouldn’t do this to you, though.”

“I – I would hope – I wasn’t thinking you might,” Namroth said, genuinely alarmed.

“Great!” Val levered the blade of his dagger underneath a scale and pushed on it; there was a slight cracking sound as something snapped off inside. “Aw, damn.”

“I must see to my kobolds,” Namroth said, with a heavy exhale. “I’ll be inside.”

“How are you gonna fit through the –“

Val’s words were cut short as Namroth spread his wings and leaped off the top of the tower, vanishing over the side. “Oh, right,” the bard said, belatedly, and Tam remembered the massive hole torn in the wall of the tower. No doubt he’d get back in through there.

That is where they found him – not on the ground floor, where Duragfang had made his shrine, but a few floors up in the miniature museum. He was humanoid again, looking slightly battered, but otherwise no worse for wear.

“Are you ready to go back to Osden?” the dragon asked, looking over them.

“Yes, but, I was thinking,” Val said, and Namroth closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “No – no, it’s nothing bad! But I figured – we found this a while back, and I thought you might find it interesting. I know you like history. Hence all the, um… everything.” Val waved a hand at the room in general, sat down on the floor, and began to remove an entire set of plate armor from the Bag of Holding, piece by piece.

“Where did you get this?” Namroth asked, with growing incredulity, as the heap of shiny metal grew higher.

“I found it in the Underdark, on a bad rug,” Val said.

“…and what might that be?”

“The Underdark? It’s, like, a lot of caves –“

“No,” Namroth said patiently, “the rug.”

“Oh.” Val paused, frowning, tossing a bracer in one hand. “It, uh, it made me old. Made time pass.”

“…right.”

“I mean faster than normal! Made it pass faster than normal!”

Tam rolled his eyes. Namroth glanced up at him, then back to the armor.

“Very well,” the dragon said. “So what… is this?”

“Oh,” Val said, glancing down on it as he reached into the bag up to his shoulder and felt around for something. “It’s, um, armor from an emperor. One of the previous emperors. I don’t know which one, but it doesn’t fit any of us, and our gear is better anyways, so you’re welcome to have it.”

At the mention of an emperor, Namroth’s eyes lit up. “Really?” he said, and crouched, picking up a greave and tracing the golden inlay and white enamel patterns with one finger. “Hmm… it does seem to be old… that is fascinating. And it was in the Underdark?”

“Yes,” Val said, in the tone that someone would use to speak to a small child, “on a very bad magic rug.”

Namroth ignored him. “This is still much later than some of my artifacts, but it is lovely. Reminds me of your human royal who came through forever ago. The old one.” He nodded. “I’ll have to mount this. But it’ll make a splendid addition to my collection!”

Ah, there was the bizarre enthusiasm. There he was. Tam nodded to himself. _The old royal – he must be talking about Theodric the Old. He is the patron of the Heroes’ Guild, after all; the silver dragon on all our pendants. Him and his line._

Wait. How did – how did he know that?

“Well, all yours,” Val said, with a shrug, distracting Tam from his thoughts. “Couldn’t exactly sell it. Don’t want those questions on my hands!”

“Do – are you assuming someone would think you killed that particular emperor?” Manny asked, raising one eyebrow.

“Well, you never know!”

“Wouldn’t I then also have those questions?” Namroth asked, critically.

“You could just read my mind or whatever,” Val said, rolling his eyes. “Although _apparently_ I’m not interesting enough that you want to, so maybe you wouldn’t.” He set half of a breastplate on the cold floor with a clang.

“Are you actually still mad about that?” Manny asked, folding his arms.

“Yes!”

 _Unbelievable._ No, it was very believable. Val was… something else.

He pulled the last few pieces of white and gold armor from the bag, then felt around inside it, squinting. “I think that’s all of it,” he said, pulling his hands out. “Let me know if there’s anything missing.”

“Doesn’t seem to be,” Namroth replied, eyeing the pile. “I’ll have to sort it first before I can determine that for certain, though.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Val said. He shut the bag and slung it back over his shoulder, then sprang up, dusting his hands off. “Right! Well –“

“Ah,” Namroth said, interrupting. “One thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Alfo.” Namroth looked over at him. “I’ll need that maul back.”

Alfo glanced down at the maul, which hung at his hip. “Really?” he said.

“…yes? I don’t really want dragonslaying weapons just out in the world.” Namroth seemed alarmed.

“Well, fine, I guess,” Alfo said, and unhooked the mail, holding it out. Namroth took it, seeming not to notice its weight, and carried it over to one of the wooden tables, where he laid it down.

“Thank you,” he said, when he returned to them. “Now, are we prepared to return to Osden?”

“I am,” Val said, with a shrug.

“As am I,” Tam said.

“ _Please,”_ Manny muttered, hunching his shoulders up. “It’s _cold._ ” Alfo, next to him, just shrugged.

Namroth clapped his hands together. “Excellent,” he said. “Just leave the armor there for now. Nothing will happen to it. To the roof, then.”

They traipsed back up the stairs – passing by the various disabled traps as they all went – and up to the roof. Duragfang’s corpse remained there, and Namroth shivered when he glanced over at it, but he said nothing.

The teleportation circle on the roof appeared to still be functioning. Namroth ushered them into it, then glanced to Manny. “If you’d do the honors?”

“Right, sure,” Manny said, and with a snap of his fingers and a flash of light –

-they were back in the middle of the road in Osden.

“Well, we’re back!” Val announced cheerfully, and coughed. “I think we could use a rest.”

Magnolia and Kiran, who had been watching when they left, were still standing where they’d been at the moment of disappearance. The two exchanged a glance. “Did you forget something?” Kiran asked them.

“You look like shit,” Magnolia said.

“Uh, because we fought a dragon,” Val said, rolling his eyes. “We’re beat to hell. I think we’ve earned the right to look terrible.”

“You’ve been gone for… I don’t know, a minute, maybe?” Kiran said, frowning. “Unless…”

“Time passes differently,” Namroth said again. “Remember?”

“Right,” Val muttered. “Don’t like that. Glad to be back on the Material Plane, that’s for certain.”

“I think,” Manny said, “that we should go back inside the inn. Ulf’s probably going to want to throw a party or something. He’ll give us all the best mead! That’s our diplomatic water.”

“Oh, excellent,” Val said.

 _More parties?_ Tam sighed internally. _I’ll stay out of it, like always_. But he followed them into the inn anyways.

Manny was correct. As the sun edged towards the mountains in the west, Ulf and the people of Osden transformed the town. Stone brazier-pedestals with wide, coal-filled basins lined the streets, providing brilliant pools of light all along the roads, and the inn’s windows and front doors were thrown open, allowing light and sound to pour out in a golden flood. The flames of the braziers matched the fire of the sunset sky, throwing the mountains into shadow; a stark, black cutout of a skyline, reflected cleanly in the fjord's still surface.

It got colder as night fell. It was still too early in the year for Tam’s breath not to cloud in the nighttime air; he watched the vapor swirl and dissipate in the firelight from the torches on either side of the inn door.

Inside the inn, he could hear voices raised in rough song, and laughter, strung through with the telltale sounds of Val’s harp in some cheerful melody he half-recognized. Even Namroth was still here – though going by the name Ricsig again, as if anybody here didn’t know he was ‘secretly’ a dragon – enjoying the party. Tam sighed. They’d killed Duragfang, freed the kobolds, freed Osden, and returned Namroth to his position as the guardian of the Rimespire and patron of the Heroes’ Guild. So why didn’t he feel like they’d succeeded? Why did he still feel tense, wary, as if there was something still left to –

Suddenly, he remembered the pieces of Duragfang’s body he’d taken. He moved a hand down to the pouch that contained the tooth, claw, and spine. He needed to bury those. That’s what he was missing out on _. I almost forgot. How… unlike me._

He turned, staff in one hand, and crossed the road, moving away from the inn and towards the edge of the island. He just needed a quiet, forested area.

Towards the north shore of the island, the forest grew denser. The trees here were tall and strong, never logged to build the houses of Osden. Tam passed between them as silently as he could. With the light of the town fading behind him, he found himself lit only by the moon above, casting its pale glow over the mountains, and the fjord, gently cradled between the snowy slopes.

Once he could no longer hear the racket from the town, Tam moved slower, searching for a place to bury Duragfang’s bones. Under the roots of a tall cedar seemed appropriate; he stopped and knelt, then closed his eyes, reaching out to the earth. _I need a hole. Small, but deep, deep enough to keep these bones from rising to the surface unbidden._

Before him, the ground began to shift and move; worms and beetles, cold from the winter but still willing to obey him, began to dig and burrow, softening the soil and pushing it out of the way. Tam watched silently as a patch of ground the size of a dinner plate heaved and boiled with tiny forms, and slowly, the soil began to move to the sides and the center hollowed out.

He watched for several minutes. When the hole was three feet deep or so, he moved. _Stop. That’s enough._

The movement of the earth ceased as the insects and worms inside paused, waiting for his next command. He removed the first of Duragfang’s artifacts – the tooth – and carefully lowered it into the dirt, murmuring a prayer in Druidic. _Go to the earth, and stay there,_ he thought, as he let the tooth – longer than his palm was wide, twice as thick through as any of his fingers, white with faint stains of red blood – drop onto the cold soil at the bottom of the hole.

He pushed some of the soil back into the hole with his hands, but let the crawling creatures take care of the rest of it, burying the tooth deep, deep down in the earth. _One handled, two more left,_ he thought, and stood, stepping away to search for another burial site.

The claw he buried at the base of a pile of rocks in a clearing, home to serpents that, at this time of year, still slept in burrows beneath the tumbled stones. The spine he buried closer to the shore, close enough the ground was moist, but not close enough for the water to unearth it. Tam washed the mud off his hands, splashing them in the cold fjord water, and turned, heading back towards the town.

As he grew closer, though, the anxious, high-energy feeling in his blood didn’t fade. Something… something was still wrong.

As he neared the inn, he saw a figure moving through the streets. It moved furtively, as if it were afraid of being watched. It hurried towards the inn.

_Stay outside._

Tam wrapped his cloak tighter around his shoulders and arms and stayed in the shadows. There were a few trees and bushes across the road from the inn; he crouched in them, eyes on the door of the inn. For some reason, he felt that he had to stay there. _Out of sight. Out of view._

The figure slipped into the inn. A few moments later, it re-emerged, this time with another figure. Tam squinted and recognized the silver armor, the bright red cloak – Magnolia. _What is she doing?_

There was a brief, whispered discussion; Tam tried to read their lips, but couldn’t quite manage it. Their words were ever so slightly too quiet for him to hear. The first figure turned and darted back off through the streets; Magnolia went inside.

Tam was suddenly torn. He wanted to follow the first figure, the courier, but he also wanted to know what Magnolia was doing inside. He struggled for a second, then glanced around. Was Shadow nearby? She might be able to call out to Val, or one of the other members of the Guard. He reached out with his mind, searching for the once-was-wolf. <Shadow?>

Nothing. She wasn’t answering.

Tam shook his head. Where was she? Never mind. He didn’t have time to worry about that. He reached out again, this time taking hold of a bat from the trees, and sent it winging in through the doorway. It would find Val, and bring him outside. Yes, that would do.

After a few moments, the bat fluttered back out. Behind it, Val slipped out through the door, cloak swirling around him. He glanced around, slipped his metal faceplate on, and hurried over into the trees.

“What’s going on?” Val whispered, sweeping his cloak around him and hunkering down. For a bizarre second, Tam almost lost sight of him as the pattern of the cloak blended in with the shifting darkness, even though he was standing right in front of him.

“Someone delivered a message to Magnolia,” Tam whispered to him, “and departed, off that way.”

“Towards the docks,” Val observed. “A message from off the island, it seems.”

“Yes. But I don’t know who –“

Tam’s statement was cut short a a figure moved in the light of the inn door: Magnolia. Following her was Manny; they stepped outside, and she cleared her throat into her fist, stepping away from the door. Manny spoke, a few times, but Magnolia didn’t answer. Tam felt Val about to speak, probably to ask what they were doing, when Magnolia drew a short dagger and plunged it into Manny’s midsection.

“Oh!” Val said, eyes going wide. “Holy shit!”

Magnolia whirled, searching the trees. Val uncloaked himself, hiding spot ruined, and drew both rapiers. “Outside!” he shouted, into the inn’s entryway. “Out here, now!”

It was mere seconds before Namroth appeared in the doorway, eyes wide. “What’s going on?” he asked, as Val faced off against Magnolia, who had one hand on the hilt of her greatsword, gaze darting back and forth.

“She attacked Manny,” Val called.

“I’m fine!” Manny yelled, from where he was crumpled against the inn’s exterior wall. “Just give me a minute!”

Magnolia turned towards him and grabbed the front of his robes with one hand, hoisting him up. He yelped, but lowered his gaze to hers, narrowing his eyes. “Let me go,” he said, and Tam could feel even from a distance the power that boiled off his words. Almost involuntarily, Magnolia let go of Manny, and he stumbled and immediately darted away, back into the inn.

Clearly frustrated, Magnolia snarled something in a language Tam didn’t understand. Namroth glanced between them, then rushed forwards and grabbed Magnolia’s free arm, trying to wrench it behind her. For a brief moment, the two struggled, and then there was a sharp crack as Magnolia swung her elbow into Namroth’s nose and he staggered back. In a flash, Magnolia was running. Val swore loudly and started after her. She sprinted around a corner and vanished into the city.

Val narrowed his eyes and didn’t follow her, heading instead at a sprint towards the docks. Tam realized what he was doing – trying to cut her off. He needed to keep an eye on both of them.

Tam closed his eyes and spread his arms, adopting a new form. He didn’t _like_ being only one thing, but in this case, he thought, it was probably better to stay in a shape that was a little less… obvious than normal. That of an owl, he thought, would do well; silent, and with eyes that could pierce the night.

Magnolia took her time winding through the city streets. Once she was sure Val was no longer on her tail, she slowed to a walk, probably to avoid drawing attention to herself. It worked; more than once she passed ordinary townsfolk, who either nodded to her politely or paid her no attention at all. By the time she curved back to the docks, her gait was even and confident, though her face betrayed no expression.

There was a boat there that Tam didn’t recognize. The courier was nowhere to be found, but he could see Magnolia heading towards the ship. She strode out onto the wooden dock and began to hurriedly untie the rope that kept the boat moored.

Tam was almost directly overhead when he heard Val’s voice. “Going somewhere?” the bard said, and Magnolia jumped backwards, stumbling over her own boots. Val was seated on a crate, cloak draped over him, head propped up on one hand. He raised his eyebrows, awaiting an answer.

Magnolia didn’t give him one, other than to draw the dagger she’d used earlier and lunge forwards, catching Val in the side. He yelped and leaped up and backwards, immediately clutching the wound with one hand.

Tam arced and dove, landing on the dock in a flurry of feathers. He shifted smoothly back to his human form and rose, staff clutched in both hands. “I don’t believe you are,” he said, trying to keep up Val’s theme.

“I’ll kill you both,” Magnolia said, and drew her sword. She swung it in a wide arc in front of her, barely missing Val, and then whirled around and brought it down in a massive overhead towards him. Val swept his rapiers up in an X shape, catching her sword between his, and squeaked as she drove downwards, bending under her strength.

“Really wish,” he shouted to Tam, gritting his teeth, “that we hadn’t given her those gauntlets!” _Oh, right. The magic gauntlets that make her stronger._

“Your mistake,” she growled back, and Val only just managed to redirect her blade to the side, into the crates he’d been sitting on. The blade bit deep as he scooted away from her.

Tam extended his staff; insects swarmed from it and over the dock. Magnolia saw them coming and kicked the boat away from the pier, slicing clean through the rope that held it in place with her sword.

At that, Val’s eyes went wide. “Uh,” he said, glancing towards the shore as he and Magnolia drifted away. “I – hm…”

“Not such a great idea after all, was it?” Magnolia said to him, with a sneer. “Maybe you shouldn’t have tried to play around. Maybe you should’ve stabbed me when you had the chance.”

“Well, I suffer for style,” Val said, but the strained tone of his voice showed how worried he was about the situation. Val was from Pabshaw. He could swim. But that didn’t mean he was good at it. And now, it was either jump off the boat and swim, or stay there… with Magnolia.

Tam paused, then moved to the end of the dock and walked off.

The water was freezing cold. As he fell in, though, he let his form embrace the water, transforming himself. A human would be useless in this battle. So would rats, or birds, or bats, or beetles, any of his normal forms. An owl was worthless here as well. But thinking about Pabshaw, and some of the animals he’d seen there… he knew what would be useful now. He let go of the earth and sky.

Tam shot forwards, to the hull of the boat. He wasn’t as large as he’d hoped, but he was still far larger than the average octopus, and heard a startled yelp from above the water as he reached from the water's surface, long, bright orange tentacles lined with suction cups, and wrapped his arms around the boat, dragging it backwards.

At this point, he could also see lights along the shore. Someone else must have showed up. No matter; he squeezed the wooden boat, and was satisfied to hear some of the wood splinter. Above there were a few sharply spoken words and a pained shout; Val’s magic, no doubt.

They weren’t in a good state to fight. He knew that, and Magnolia knew that. She hadn’t fought a dragon earlier in the day, while Val and Tam had. But they were strong enough together, he knew. They’d handle her.

Val was agile, good at balancing. Knowing this, Tam deliberately began to rock the boat from side to side, throwing it off balance. He heard a laugh from above. Was Val _enjoying_ this?

From the shore, there came the thrumming of a bow, and a bolt of light streaked overhead – Manny and Alfo, probably, or Kiran, or one of the archers from the town. Tam heard a shout from the boat, a muffled impact, and then a splash; beside him, the waters bloomed white with bubbles as both Magnolia and Val fell from the boat. Magnolia was holding Val by the collar, at arm’s length, as he stabbed at her with his dagger. His mouth was sealed shut, but a trail of bubbles left hers; it seemed Magnolia was less used to the water. Good.

There was a flash as one of Val’s rapiers fell from the boat and vanished into the depths. Tam could retrieve it later, he knew. Magnolia was trying to get something else out of her pocket as she and Val sank; she pulled it out, fidgeting, and started to mutter something, words leaving her mouth in silvery spheres. Tam let go of the boat, turning and moving downwards towards them.

Val’s eyes narrowed, and he opened his mouth to bite down on her wrist, then use her surprise to pull himself forwards and shove his dagger into her throat. Her eyes went wide and she stopped speaking, then reached forward and grabbed Val around the throat, yanking his hand away. He went tense and batted at her wrist, eyes almost frantic.

They struggled for a few more seconds, but when Val managed to grab the handle of his dagger again and pull out in a languid stream of cloudy red, Magnolia could no longer maintain her grip on his throat. Still he didn’t swim away; he wrenched his neck free of her grasp, but went for her other arm, her hand. He pried her fingers open – she no longer reacted – and pulled something from in between them before finally letting go and facing upwards. He kicked and speared towards the surface.

When he broke the waters of the fjord, he gasped and coughed, then headed for the boat, which remained where it was, floating on the water; Tam hadn’t managed to capsize it. Tam turned towards the seabed and went searching for the missing rapier. It wasn’t hard to find; the humming magic that was wrought into the mithril called from the mud, and Tam cleared muck off the gleaming blade and swam back up, delicately depositing it in the boat with two tendrils.

“Thanks,” Val said, in a slightly strangled tone. Tam suckered a few tentacles to the boat and pulled it back towards the shore. He pulled himself into human form out of the water, and Val clambered clumsily out and dragged the boat up after him, wincing as he did so. A few townspeople stood on the shore – warriors, with bows or swords ready. Kiran and Manny were both there; Alfo was not.

“Holy Hells, what happened?” Kiran said, staring at him. “What did she _do?_ ”

“Tried to kill Manny,” Val croaked. There was a bruise forming around his throat from where Magnolia had tried to strangle him.

“Stabbed me,” Manny confirmed. His robes were soaked with blood, but he seemed cheerful enough.

“Why?!”

“For my sister,” he sighed. “She wants to kill me. I guess Magnolia was an assassin? I feel like maybe I should’ve seen that sooner. You don’t usually see us sneople outside of Oscus.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Val hissed. “We can’t go one party without a catastrophe.”

“She’s dead now,” Tam reported. “Whoever contacted her is gone.”

Val swore to himself, one arm clutched around his midsection; he was completely soaked. “Let’s get back to the inn,” he said. “We can discuss this there. I want to get out of the cold.” He paused, then turned to the expanse of the fjord. “If anybody _else_ would like to _cause problems for us_ , now would be the time!” he shouted, voice carrying over the waters.

Nothing responded.

“Very well, then,” he snapped, and turned, limping back towards the town. Everyone else followed in silence.

Tam took a few hurried steps to catch up with him. “What did you take from her?” he asked, remembering Val pulling the object from Magnolia’s hand.

Val shook his head. “No idea,” he said. He raised a hand and opened it; a large sapphire, circular, lay in the center of his palm. “But it can’t be just an ordinary gemstone, unless she suddenly decided she wanted to bribe me. Which I highly doubt. Whatever it is, she wanted to get to it, and it’s likely dangerous. I’ll have Namroth examine it when we get back.” He narrowed his eyes, dark in his pale face, and wiped water off his forehead. “I can’t believe we didn’t see that coming. First Kiran was a wereboar, now Magnolia’s an assassin. I guess we really can’t trust anyone.”

Tam focused his eyes on the road, silent. Val was overly suspicious sometimes, but right now, he agreed with his cousin: it seemed they couldn’t trust anyone who wasn’t in the Night Guard.

They could only trust each other.


	40. The Treachery of Alfo Nightmantle

Tam woke in the morning to the sound of birdsong. The island of Osden was welcoming the spring; the long-slumbering creatures were waking up, coming to life. He breathed in and smelled fjord air, even through the smells of the town.

When he made his way into the inn’s common area, he saw Val lounging in a chair at a table with Alfo, Manny, and Namroth. He was spinning the sapphire, clearly focused on it.

“What is it?” he said, taking a seat next to his cousin.

“Namroth was about to identify it for us,” Val said, “as soon as you showed up. I didn’t want to explain it multiple times.”

Namroth held out his hand; Val passed the stone over, still frowning at it. “Be careful,” he said. “Whatever it was, she wanted it, probably for some bizarre and sinister reason.”

“Well, maybe,” Namroth said, murmuring. A sheen of silver crossed his eyes for a moment, then faded; he turned it over. “Well, this is interesting! Look at this!”

He laid the sapphire down and pointed. On one flat faceted side, where Tam was certain there hadn’t been any markings before, were a few symbols, scratched into the surface. He couldn’t read the scripting.

“That’s weird,” Manny said, leaning in. “It just says ‘ring.’”

“It’s a spell,” Namroth explained. “It summons the artifact inscribed on the sapphire’s surface, and consumes the gem as it does so.”

“Aw,” Val said, disappointed.

Namroth continued as if he hadn’t heard. “This one will bring whatever ring it’s mentioning into being, in  your hand, as soon as you say the word while gripping the stone. In the language that it’s inscribed in, mind you.”

Val glanced at it, then looked to Manny. “You seem to be able to read it,” he said, leaning back in his chair (which he was sitting in sideways, leaning on the arm with his leg hooked over the opposite arm). “Would you like to do the honors?”

Manny leaned forward and picked the sapphire up off the table. “Uh,” he said, and then uttered a word in a weird, sibilant language that simultaneously scraped the back of his throat and curled around the tip of his tongue.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then sapphire vanished with a faint popping sound, and instead, in Manny’s hand, lay a silvery-orange ring, unmarked.

“Huh, interesting,” he said, picking it up. He peered through it, then went to put it on.

Something in Tam’s mind screamed at that. He lunged forward with one hand and caught Manny’s wrist, yanking it back. The sorcerer, who was not expecting it and was scrawny anyways, didn’t even make a sound, just looked up at him, puzzled.

“Do not,” Tam said, low and clear.

“Actually, he’s probably right,” Namroth agreed. “That ring could be magical. We don’t know what it does.”

“Oh, but if anything, it feels like fire,” Manny said, looking down at it again. “That won’t hurt me.”

“That is a dead lie,” Val called. “You have literally killed yourself with fire before.”

“Eh, once.”

 _Why would she want a fire ring underwater? The damage wouldn’t work properly._ Tam frowned at it; carefully, he reached over and took the ring from Manny’s hand. It felt hot, too hot, and he hurriedly handed it to Namroth before he dropped it.

Namroth took it, sniffed it, and held it on his palm while that same silvery sheen passed over his eyes. “Oh!” he said, and then, _“oh._ ”

“What is it?” Val asked.

“It is magic, yes, and it uses fire,” he said carefully, as he gently picked it up and set it in the center of the table. “And if you put it on, you will immolate yourself instantaneously.”

“Oh,” Val said. He looked up to Manny. “See, this is why we don’t put on magic rings without identifying them first. Thank you, Namroth.”

“It’s Ricsig here!”

“Right. Sorry.” Val rolled his eyes as soon as the old man looked away. “Because in this town, nobody knows you are a dragon.”

“That’s right! I’m very good at keeping secrets.”

Val swiveled around in his chair to stare up at Tam, expression blank.

Manny sighed. “Well, what do we do with it, then? We can’t wear it, I guess.”

“I would recommend not wearing it,” Namroth agreed, voice going slightly higher pitched than normal.

“I’ll keep it,” Val said, leaning forwards. He swiped the ring off the table before anybody else could move and slipped it into the Bag of Holding. “Safe for the time being. Nobody will accidentally put it on.”

“Very well, I suppose that’s fair enough,” Namroth said.

Further conversation was disrupted as the door to the inn cracked open, flying as far back as the hinges would let it go with a cracking sound. The entirety of the Night Guard turned as one, startled, and watched as a group of dwarves marched in.

“There,” one of them said, raising a spear and pointing towards them. “There he is.”

“What,” Val said, and watched with astonishment as they moved, unhurried and grim, towards the group. “Now, wait just a moment here!”

“We have no quarrel with you, human,” one of them said, looking up to him. “Keep out of the way. We have business with the traitor.”

_Let them pass._

Tam stepped back, out of their way. One of them gave him an approving nod. He leaned on his staff and watched as, with absolute silence, the dwarves gripped Alfo by the shoulders and pulled him out of his chair, shoving his arms behind him.

“What are you doing?!” Val said, standing now. “You can’t do this!”

“We can, Hero, and I’ll ask you not to interfere,” one of the dwarves snapped. “Though you’ll be needed for his trial.”

“What’s Alfo done? You can’t just drag him away!”

The dwarf facing him sighed, shook his head, and cleared his throat. “I’m here to arrest my son, Alfo Nightmantle, for treason. He tried to kill the king of Emberhearth, and we have evidence.”

 _“What?!”_ Val half-drew Windsinger, already falling back into a fighting stance, and with his motions Tam saw Manny raise his hands and Namroth rise, eyes going fierce.

“No,” Alfo said, looking at them all. “No, don’t.”

“Alfo?”

“Don’t fight them.”

Val glanced to him, then to the dwarves, and slid Windsinger back into its sheath. “Alright,” he said, warily. “But only if you’re sure.”

“I am.”

“You can follow us,” the leader of the group rumbled, “for as I said, you’ll be needed at his trial.”

“Treason?” Val whispered, under his breath, as the dwarves began escorting Alfo outside. “I don’t understand…”

 _We will soon, I suppose,_ Tam thought, as they followed the part out into the daylight. Now that Tam looked, he began to see the resemblance between Alfo and the dwarf claiming to be his father; the set of his nose, the line of his eyebrows, what of his jaw Tam could see poking through the beard. And the scars… both of them had every visible inch of skin crisscrossed with dozens of old scrapes, scratches, cuts, and wounds, some minor, some very deadly-looking indeed. _The family business, I suppose._

There was, it seemed, a courthouse – or something that could serve as a courthouse – in Osden. The dwarves led Alfo there, and the Night Guard followed. The interior of one of the buildings, with a high timber-beam ceiling and a great deal of windows, had an open floor, and many chairs moved into a semicircle. Facing that semicircle were a few spots out in the open. Tam had never been in a courtroom, not a judicial one, and he found that he did not like it.

The dwarves took Alfo to the front of the room and sat him in one of the open spots. The Guard, they indicated, should seat themselves on the semicircle, across the central line from what appeared to be a panel of five dwarves.

Once they were settled, the dwarf who was serving as judge cleared his throat. “One last thing,” he said, looking towards the door. “Bring it in.”

There was a scraping sound, and the whispery echo of many voices quietly weeping. The floor of this building – perhaps it was sometimes a church? – was stone, and the grating of it against metal turned all attention to the entryway. There, being pushed into the courtroom by several dwarves, one of them in heavy plate armor inlaid with intricate holy symbols, was a metal cage. The dwarf in the fancy armor was a paladin of some type; Tam vaguely recognized the markings, but couldn’t place them. One of the dwarven gods. Moradin, maybe?

The cage was massive. Large enough to hold a small horse, though that was the limit of its size, and circular like a birdcage. Inside it, her many, many eyes streaking tears, was Shadow, the Final Destroyer.

Alfo’s face betrayed no expression, but Val, next to Tam, let out a pained breath. “Damn it,” he hissed, looking between Alfo and his wolf. “Damn it, damn it… This _really_ doesn’t look good.”

There were faint murmurs and whispers spreading through the assembled crowd, of dwarves and some of the Osden townsfolk, as the cage was dragged to the center of the courtroom. Shadow, within it, seemed smaller than usual, though she still towered over some of the dwarves; she seemed… diminished, Tam thought, and then spotted the circle of runes engraved on the bottom ring of the cage. That was keeping her trapped.

Val spotted it too. “Hmm,” he murmured. “If I… could touch her, and then I might be able to get outside with a door…”

Whatever he was thinking, it was probably a bad idea. But it seemed he would likely pick up on that. Tam stayed silent.

“Thus begins the trial of Alfo Nightmantle,” the judge declared, once the paladin and the other dwarves – rangers, it seemed – had stepped away from the circle. He spoke in Common, evidently for the inclusion of the humans. “We try Alfo Nightmantle for treason, for plotting against the king of Emberhearth, to kill him for purposes unknown. Against him, we now bring our case.”

The judge sat back. The dwarf who claimed to be Alfo’s father – and Tam didn’t know his name, but it was probably something bizarre, knowing the Nightmantle family – stood and stepped into the open area, though he stayed _far_ away from Shadow’s cage. “We have several accusations against Alfo Nightmantle,” he said, “which we will address one by one. Each will be defended on its own account. Firstly, we begin with the fact that Alfo has learned the language of criminals and thieves, the secret cant that they used to spread information against the law.”

“Well, _I_ know that,” Val muttered. “That doesn’t prove anything.”

“No, I didn’t,” Alfo said.

 _…bold_.

“I’ve never even _heard_ of it,” Alfo continued, shaking his head. “I don’t know any secret _thief language._ ”

“Is that so?” his father said, with a raised eyebrow. “Odd choice of defense for someone so on the edge of either victory or defeat.”

_What?_

It didn’t make any sense. Tam realized it probably meant something in the cant, something that only Alfo would understand.

“Huh,” Val said, quietly. _He understood, too._

Whatever it was, Alfo didn’t react. His father nodded to himself, with a surprised “hmm,” and looked to the jury. None of them seemed to react, either.

“I suppose we have no evidence to contradict you,” he said, “so we’ll move on.”

Val let out a breath. “Come on, Alfo,” he muttered. Manny, on his other side, glanced to Tam, then back to Alfo.

“You sent a letter to Emberheart, to some of your contacts,” Alfo’s father said, “inquiring after the king’s schedule, in detail. You wanted to know where he would be for the next several months, preferably on certain days. Why did you need to know this?”

Alfo shut his mouth.

“Do you care to defend yourself?” his father pressed, spreading his hands.

Val frowned. “He did what?” he asked.

 _This is the first we have heard of it._ Tam hadn’t paid attention, though he did remember Alfo sending various letters to his family members. He hadn’t thought to ask what was in them, and now, he wondered if that even would’ve mattered; Alfo, it seemed, would probably have lied about their contents anyway.

“No defense will bring the assumption of guilty,” Alfo’s father warned. Still Alfo stayed quiet. His father sighed and shook his head. “Very well, then. We also know that we found on your person a brand, a mark in the dark tongue of Abyssal, belonging to the god Myrkul.”

“What the fuck?” Val said, in that same bewildered, quiet voice. “A – is he talking about the… the mark from the orcs? I don't recognize the name...”

“No comment,” Alfo growled, glaring at his father.

“Against the god of death and destruction, you have no comment?”

“That’s correct.”

Alfo’s father took a moment to turn in place, looking each jury member – and member of the Night Guard – in the face before turning back to his son. “This is somewhat less damning, but next, we know that you employ an enemy of the state: Keth Redblade.”

“Are – are we allowed to speak?” Val suddenly asked, out loud. “We were with him. We know some stuff.”

“By all means,” the Nightmantle patriarch said, looking over to him.

“Right,” Val said, setting his hands on the table in front of him. “Well, let’s get a few things straight. _Alfo_ hasn’t employed _anybody._ Unless you mean by association or agreement, in which case, that means I’ve ‘employed’ Prince Elidyr Ashebow of Sindaleth. Now, I don’t believe these are the same thing. Simply _knowing_ someone does not entail an in-depth connection! Can we agree on that?”

“I… suppose so,” Alfo’s father said, brow furrowed.

“Right! Now, additionally, even if he had associated with this… Keth Redblood, or what have you –“

“Redblade.”

“Redblade? My apologies, I’d never heard the name before.” Val’s gaze was sharp and focused. “As I was saying, even if he has associated with this Keth Redblade, that does not mean he’s entered any sort of agreement or pact with him. Also, shouldn’t you be tracking down a known enemy of the state? I feel like if you don’t have him under control, that’s your fault.”

“Now wait just a minute here,” Alfo’s father said, almost flustered. “We can’t keep every single criminal in Emberhearth – “

“No, I suppose you can’t,” Val sighed, rolling his eyes. “Well, you should work on your criminal rehabilitation programs, then. Can we move on?”

“I – yes,” Alfo’s father said.

_Astonishing._

Alfo’s father cleared his throat. “The next point, though, we have absolute confidence in. Alfo Nightmantle, you took it upon yourself to transform your hunting companion into an aberration, the very thing you swore always to hunt down and destroy.”

All eyes turned to Shadow. She hunched her shoulders and lowered her head. Tam could see her many eyes flicking about, searching the crowd, watching Alfo, watching the other dwarves, watching…

More murmurs spread through the crowd. “I had my reasons for doing this,” Alfo said, clearly. “I had my reasons.”

“If I may,” Val added, “to call Shadow an aberration is, I think, a bit rude. Sure, she may be covered in eyes and constantly crying unidentifiable fluids, but that doesn’t mean she’s evil! Do you know how many times Shadow has saved our lives? How many times she’s stood up in the face of darkness – for us, and for Alfo – and fought against the worst kinds of monsters in the name of all that is good? Do you have any _idea_ how devoted to us she is? Shadow has been our friend and companion, regardless of what form she took.”

“This is a stirring speech,” Alfo’s father admitted, “but unfortunately, this thing is a creature of pure evil. It is a monstrosity, an abomination, and it is an amalgamation of souls who cannot pass to the afterlife. We cannot let this thing continue to exist.” He raised a hand; a signal.

The paladin stepped forward. In one smooth movement, he drew a greatsword from his back, brought it around, and plunged it through the bars of the cage, directly into the center of Shadow’s mass. There was a flash of light from the blade, and Shadow threw her head back and howled. It sounded like dozens of voices screaming all at once; her eyes, all of them, rolled wildly, and then her form seemed to fade, like a shadow on a winter day, growing thinner and thinner until she evaporated into mist.

Alfo’s expression was unreadable. Val had half-risen, hand outstretched, but he sat now, face stormy.

“So they are put to rest,” the paladin intoned, and sheathed his sword.

_She was the embodiment of a tortured, trapped soul. Many of them. And now they are free. Perhaps it’s for the best that she is gone._

“Next point,” Alfo’s father said, “is that Alfo Nightmantle has been training in how to make poisons, and buying poisons, with which he intended to murder the king of Emberhearth.”

“Prove it,” Manny called. His expression was ever so slightly stormy; he wasn’t pleased about Shadow’s death.

“Very well,” Alfo’s father said, and turned to Alfo. “Your belt pouch.”

Alfo glared at him. “My hands aren’t free.”

“Ah. I’ll take it, then.” He stepped over and gingerly plucked one of Alfo’s many pouches from his person. Opening it, he removed several small bottles that Tam was certain he’d never seen before. “These are poisons,” he said, “and this one is an acid.” He uncorked it and tipped it just enough so that a drop fell to the floor, where it hissed and steamed gently.

“I… why?” Val whispered. “I’ve never seen those before. But he had them. Alfo, are those yours? I know a poison when I see one!”

“Are you sure you should be saying that in a court,” Manny murmured.

Alfo raised his gaze, but said nothing. From his eyes, though, Tam could tell he didn’t intend to speak in his defense; he’d already lied enough.

“Such poisons are illegal to procure or possess,” Alfo’s father said, placing the bottles back in the pouch and handing it to one of the attending dwarves. “Any Nightmantle knows that. Alfo was willingly acquiring these substances with the intent of using them against our king.”

Val looked to him, then to Alfo, and back again. He looked genuinely troubled, eyes wide, mouth slightly open.

“These are our pieces of evidence. This is what we provide. Now, we will vote on his guilt.”

Slowly, he began to look to each of the jurors in turn. Of the five dwarves, three found him guilty, and two did not; it appeared they had been convinced by the arguments made in his favor.

“And your companions, the rest of the Night Guard,” Alfo’s father said, turning to them. “You will also have a say in deciding his fate.”

 _Not me. It’s not my place to determine fate. It’s not anyone’s place._ Tam shook his head. Alfo’s father raised an eyebrow.

“You abstain from the vote?” he asked.

“Yes,” Tam answered.

“Very well. The rest of you?”

“Not guilty,” Manny said, with a firm nod.

“That brings it to you,” Alfo’s father said, gaze landing on Val. “What do you say? Do you find your companion, whom you have known through much hardship, guilty of treason against the king of Emberhearth, or do you acquit him of his crimes, and let him go free?”

Val took a breath. Tam saw that his hands, clasped in his lap, were shaking. He looked down at them, whispering to himself, and then finally up, not to meet the old dwarf’s eyes, but to meet Alfo’s. “I’m sorry,” he said, out loud. “Alfo, I’m sorry. I – I have to.”

_What?_

He looked to Alfo’s father. “Guilty,” he said. Manny glanced over, eyes wide.

“With a vote of four to three, we find Alfo Nightmantle guilty of treason,” Alfo’s father intoned, turning to the jury. “And as such, we –“

“No,” Alfo said, rising. All eyes turned to him. Tam recognized the look on his face; he was about to do something dangerous. There was a wild gleam in his eye, a savage, feral knowledge. He laid his chained hands on the podium before him, and began to speak, voice growing louder and more triumphant with every word. “I invoke my right, under Fjordan law, to a trial by combat, to the death, with my accuser. And my accuser is the king! _Take me to Emberhearth!_ ”

The room immediately exploded into an uproar; dwarves rose, shouting, and the people of Osden joined in (the people of Osden loved, if nothing else, shouting). The attendant dwarves swarmed Alfo, grabbing him and pulling him towards the door. He was laughing.

“Alfo, what –“ Val tried, but as he was dragged by, he turned his head to the side to see them, and Tam recognized the madness that burned in his gaze.

“Go,” Tam murmured, and stood back.

Val watched helplessly as Alfo was borne away by his family. His father stood in the center of the makeshift courtroom, watching them go.

“I,” Val said, watching helplessly. “What… what do we do? What do we… do?”

Alfo’s father headed over to them. “I apologize for the loss to your Guard,” he said. “We thought this might happen; we’ll send word to the Heroes’ Guild to get you a replacement or two.”

“That isn’t,” Val started, and gave up, letting out his breath. “I… I didn’t know he…”

“We often don’t expect things like this from the people around us,” Alfo’s father said.

“Oh. _Oh._ I’m sorry for your loss as well,” Val said, realizing that the dwarf in front of him had, in fact, just convicted his own son of treason.

“We make the decisions we have to,” the old ranger replied, watching the last of the attendants leave the courtroom. “You know that as well as I do.”

“Yeah,” Val said, quietly. “I suppose so.”

Without another word, Alfo’s father turned and left. There was no reason to stay here; Tam watched Val stride after him, tugging his cloak around his shoulders.

The air outside was cool, but the birds still sang. Alfo and the attendants were already gone, somewhere into the town’s winding streets, and Tam knew there was no reason to follow them.

_His fate was always that of death. That of suffering, struggle, harm. It could end no other way for him._

“I suppose we get to have his things now,” Val said, quietly. “What he left behind, anyway. Anything in his room. We’ll have to collect it, um… make sure – make sure nobody else nabs it. Though I don’t suppose they’ll be searching it for evidence.” He laughed, a bitter, harsh sound, and turned away, heading off towards the inn.

“I’ll talk to him,” Manny said, to Tam, and hurried after Val. “Val, wait up –“

Tam took a deep breath, in the gradually warming air. It was rich with the scents of life; the water of the lake, the rich soil of the island, a faint hint of the sharp smell of cold from the snow. The mountains around the fjord towered high, beautiful, impassive. Tam raised his face to the sun, feeling the heat on his skin, then turned away.

He felt as if something had changed. Obviously it had, Alfo was gone, but… more than that, it felt like something deep in the world had shifted. Wherever Alfo was going, whatever path fate was taking him on, it was going to affect the world as a whole. He could feel it. Perhaps they were fated never to see Alfo again, but Tam was certain they would feel the influence of his decisions.

_But... was it really fated that he go like this? Or did he bring about this circumstance unnaturally? Is it written deep in the world that he make this choice, or did he write his own story?_

Tam didn’t know. That scared him.

If fate truly intended for Alfo to go to Emberhearth, alone, to face down the king of the dwarves and one of the first four Heroes, then it shouldn’t have made Tam feel as uneasy as he did. It should have felt like a river flowing through its course, like rain spilling from the clouds. Natural, inevitable. But it didn’t. It felt off-balance. Wrong.

Tam leaned on his staff, tracing the whorls of the wood with his fingertips. The day was bright and beautiful. Everything was shining, shining as if it were blessed in some light that touched what it turned to a clearer, glassier version of itself; the world, gilded in magic, sparkling, glorious. The colors of the forest were rich and vibrant, the white of the snow on the mountains blinding, the black of the rocks deep and soothing. The world had rarely ever felt so real.

And despite it, Tam couldn’t help but feel as though, like a rogue wave approaching a ship, there was something terrible awaiting, on the horizon, just out of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it for book one. I'm glad you decided to join me for this journey; don't worry, it's not over yet. There's much more to come. And trust me, it will come.
> 
> Stay tuned.


End file.
